Sing No Songs
by Kimmy Jarl
Summary: Bulma is old and dying. How will her death affect Vegeta? At the same time, an alien ship appears, searching for the former soldier of Frieza.
1. Your mother is dying, boy

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z

**Chapter One**

_Give no speeches  
Sing no songs  
Buy no flowers for my grave  
When that time comes, it will be too late  
If you want to tell me something  
Then tell it to me now  
_- Björn Alfzelius

It was the last really hot summer day.  
  
That day her teeth all gave in.  
  
She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, one frail hand holding on to the sink for balance. Her reflection... ruined, ruined, it went through her head. And her teeth, didn't they look looser then usual? She lifted thin lips in a silent snarl, revealing them all. A free hand lifted and a finger pushed the upper front teeth (the rabbit ones). They were loose. They caved in. The finger, unable to stop, pushed another one in the lower jaw (the slightly pointed one on the left). It fell loose and burrowed under her tongue.  
  
She screamed, and three teeth fell in the white bowl with small bell-like sounds. Vegeta appeared in the door, she had not doubted he would come as she screamed.  
  
"Look... it's my teeth," she said. She turned away a bit, somewhat ashamed. Somewhat crushed.  
  
In two rapid steps he was by her side, his face next to hers in the mirror as he held her gently, gently.  
  
"It's alright," he murmured. "Don't worry. We'll just get you a set of prosthetics. It will be less hard for you to eat, and they are easier to clean."  
  
"But how?" Here face was full of confusion. "My teeth... gone... I'm so... and how will I..."  
  
"Don't worry Bulma," he said again and combed his fingers through her soft white hair. "I'll take care if it. I'll take care of everything."  
  
---  
  
Elissa rang the doorbell. The elegant camera above her would show the people inside the big house her picture, she knew. She lifted her hand to adjust her yellow curls, but lowered it self-consciously. _Damn it!_ she screamed in her mind. _I'm a professional. No reason to be nervous_.  
  
On the other hand, this was the CC living headquarters. Not the big house, thank God, but a smaller one. Elissa wondered if she would meet company president Trunks, or if he had sent some servant to deal with the business with his mother.  
  
His mother. Bulma Briefs. The former heiress, the former inventor. She used to be brilliant.  
  
The door flew open, and Elissa took one step back. Dark eyes glared up at her.  
  
"What do you want, woman?" the man in the door asked. His voice was low and raspy. It made her fear for her life, just for one primal second. Then she raised her head, staring down her nose at him. He was one short bastard.  
  
Elissa put much faith in first impressions. She always talked about her skill in judging characters. She just knew that this one was worthy of her hate. He had scared her, how dared he!  
  
"I come on behalf of "The Golden Years Resort," she said smoothly. Every capital was pronounced, it was no doubt that it was something splendid she was speaking about. "I'm to meet with Bulma Briefs. I'm expected," she added, as the short bastard failed to react.  
  
"She's not expecting you, and neither am I. You can leave." He moved then, leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms in an insolent manner.  
  
"I was contacted by president Briefs himself!" Elissa did not know what to do; the whole situation was absurd. She sure knew one thing. "To be accepted by The Golden Years Resort is a great privilege. Our facilities and personal are unparalleled on Earth! Bulma is lucky to be considered. There, her last years will be..."  
  
She noticed his eyes. They were narrow pools of boiling acid in a face of stone. She noticed _him_. He raised himself from the leaning position, and the small movement was somehow _too_ controlled. She couldn't describe it, but she felt it in her stomach; it was like an avalanche held in check.  
  
Anything she could have said withered to insignificance beneath those demon eyes. She backed away, stumbled slightly, and fled for her life. _I don't care if they fire me_, she thought. _Just let me get out of here and I'll never come back._  
  
---  
  
Vegeta shut the door softly, using just the amount of force necessary. That high-strung woman had said that Trunks had sent her.  
  
Bulma was crying in the kitchen. He could feel her distress; his telepathic hearing was deeply sensitive of her due to many years of attuning.  
  
Her mind was endlessly fascinating to him. At the beginning, when she had first taken interest in him, her mind had envisioned him as hers with such a force that it drew him in like a moth drawn to a flame. Her mind was like a bright and complicated crystal city. He had fully expected to hurt her when he let himself be drawn in, not really caring if he were to shatter those crystal structures. He had been amazed when he had not. She was resilient, and strong.  
  
Lately, though, her mind had... changed. He knew why. She was coming to the end of her cycle. Humans died so young. It saddened him, in an almost abstract kind of way.  
  
The ageing, the changes in her appearance had alarmed her to no end, he remembered. She had fought it, using much time and resources to try to stay the same. She had stopped the efforts when the ageing reached her mind. Her hair had assumed its now natural white, and she did no longer hide the fragility of her body, or the thousands of lines in her face.  
  
Perhaps that had been a year ago. Vegeta never really measured time like that. Things were as they were, or they changed, or he made them change. Time had no significance in all that.  
  
Bulma was dying. It would have filled him with anger, except... it didn't. She was still here, still alive. Bulma was dying, that was the fact. He did not wish to dwell on it. Vegeta had a very disciplined mind. He did not dwell on it. He focused on the present, on the now.  
  
Bulma was crying in the kitchen.  
  
She stopped when she saw him. An unformed something in the slick clean surfaces in the empty room had made her cry. It was all gone now. The feel of her mind was peaceful.  
  
He helped her sit down on a chair by the table. Her eyes come to rest on a single rose that stood in a vase on the table, and she smiled. He had bought it for her, knowing she liked roses. He had never bought her roses _before_. Things had been different then; she had been able to get her own flowers. Never mind. Never mind!  
  
He went for the flower, brought it close under her nose. She took a deep breath. The scent of the rose triggered her mind through the most amazing transformation. Out of the peacefulness ran a small girl on scrawny child legs. She was laughing and running - _do you see me mother?_ Her mother grew roses in the garden. The sweet smell of her mother's rosebushes was all around the girl as she ran. The girl saw the roses, the red no less vivid for all the years gone by. What was, was. The girl saw the roses, and it was good.  
  
---  
  
Trunks was worried about his mother. It had been a while since he had seen his parents, but his latest visit had made it forcefully clear that he had been stalling too long. He should have made some arrangements for Bulma, should have made them as soon as he started to see the signs. Such as her forgetting what day of the week it was. Such as her not being able to put on a jacket. Such as her forgetting his name.  
  
He had tried to talk to Vegeta about getting her to a place where they could take care of her. As usual, his father just did not listen, dismissing the subject as if was nothing. As if Trunks himself was nothing. This attitude of his father still hurt Trunks to no end. So he had just left things as they were. But the thought of Bulma, confused and alone - alone with Him - was deeply disconcerting.  
  
He would have gone over to visit, except it had become a habit not to. And besides, he had been very occupied with the company. Lately, it had been hard. The downsizing, the steady decent of the profits. With the lack of new products, without the genius of Dr. Bulma Briefs, all the company really had to live on were its patents. In time, that was not going to be enough.  
  
Trunks didn't know what to do. Once, out of desperation, he had even asked his father for advice but had got no help whatsoever. Just a shrug and a grunt. What had he been hoping for anyway? That was Vegeta after all. His father must have been thinking that the best way to get on top was to get rid of the competition. One murder at a time. Yes, Trunks hated to admit it, but Vegeta was a bit of an embarrassment to him. It was a good thing that he didn't want anything to do with the company. Trunks nearly shuddered at the thought of all his carefully nurtured contacts and connections severed by his fathers' caveman ways and total lack of diplomacy.  
  
So yes, Trunks had been very busy, and all the time away from the company he had spent with his own family. Except... that was not an excuse anymore, was it? At the end of summer leave his 15-years old son, Levi, had left for boarding school, and he saw his wife every day at work.  
  
He and Miriam had met at work. She had been 22, her infatuation with him deep and sudden. She had a ready smile and they certainly had had fun together. The fact that he had been more than twice her age had not put her off - he didn't look it anyway. One day she had made him stutter and blush like a boy by sincerely proposing.  
  
Last time Trunks had seen his father he had searched his face for any sign of age and had not found any. He was glad for the small lines that had appeared on his own face. In his mind, they branded him human.  
  
Trunks glanced at his watch. 10:50. He had been scheduled to meet the representative from the Home twenty minutes ago. Tardiness - that did not leave a good impression. Trunks drummed nervously with his fingers. He had given the matter a lot of thought and finally decided that the "Golden Years Resort" clearly was the best option for his mother. It was the most expensive by far, but money really should not matter in things like this. He was glad that something finally was going to be done. Vegeta should not complain as long as Trunks did not bother him. Trunks was going to do all the work and let his father train uninterrupted in his Gravity Room. Surely he was not going to miss Bulma. Surely not. Never had he shown any indication that he would.  
  
10:55. Where _was_ that woman?  
  
---  
  
"Thank you." Trunks terminated the transmission.  
  
Not good. As it turned out the representative from the Home actually had been on time, she had just come to the wrong building, thinking it was Bulma she was to meet. Apparently Vegeta had met her at the door. Strange that, usually he was training at that time of the day - all times of the day really. What could his father have said to that woman? She had been very... agitated on the phone.  
  
Trunks sighed. In all likelihood the exclusive Resort was now scared off for good. He sighed again. His father may not realise it, but Bulma was no longer fit to take care of herself. He had to go over there and talk, really talk this time. It could not be helped - there was not going to be time for any work in the company today.  
  
Vegeta opened the door and eyed his son without surprise or interest.  
  
"Come in," he said. "Bulma is in the kitchen, eating."  
  
Trunks was frankly shocked when he saw his mother. She was so thin, so very old.  
  
"Hi, mom," he said, and he felt guilty for not seeing her more often. She did not react, just kept staring at him.  
  
Vegata sat down next to her and put one arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Trunks is here," he said, his lips grazing her ear.  
  
Bulma smiled and for a while she seemed to notice Trunks as he awkwardly sat down. After a few seconds she gazed at nothing again but the smile lingered. Vegeta kissed her lightly on one pale cheekbone.  
  
Trunks stared. Never had he seen Vegeta kiss Bulma. His heart was beating hard and he felt a growing ache in his throat. He swallowed. Where did all this _emotion_ come from?  
  
Still with one arm around her Vegeta gathered a spoonful of mashed food. After a murmur from him she opened her mouth and with a feeling of denial Trunks watched his mother eat. Perhaps he made a sound. Vegeta looked at him, one brow raised.  
  
"She can't even eat by herself?" Trunks whispered.  
  
"Sometimes she can," Vageta said. His voice was soft and soothing, for her benefit, Trunks had no doubt. "But today her mind is far away." Vegeta looked at her with a fond smile as rare as his earlier kiss.  
  
In her mind Bulma was a teenager in love. She was infinitely happy with herself and with the world. As close as he was, Vegeta saw that happiness, and he looked at it in wonder like it was some alien treasure.  
  
"Yamcha," Bulma suddenly said. A thin line of drool mixed with food ran from the corner of her mouth. Vegeta wiped it up with a piece of tissue, that strange smile never leaving his face.  
  
Totally unnerved, Trunks turned away.  
  
"Father…" He paused, the words failing him for a moment. He never seemed to be able to be as verbal and collected when he spoke to Vegeta as when he spoke to everyone else. "Father, we need to talk."  
  
"Later, boy. I'll take Bulma to bed so she can rest and then..." Vegeta turned to Trunks, his stare frightening in its intensity. "Then we'll talk."  
  
---  
  
"So... you're cooking now?" Trunks indicated the pots on the table. His vague gesture took in the situation in general; Bulma, Vegeta, the kitchen, the house.  
  
"A simple art to master."  
  
"Yes." Trunks took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you if someone from, well, this morning did someone-"  
  
"Get to the point, Trunks," Vegeta said, his voice as harsh as ever.  
  
"Yes. Don't you think, wouldn't it be good if mother could come to a place where she would be taken care of." At least the words were spoken.  
  
"Like the Golden Years Resort," Vegeta said. Trunks nodded. Vegeta's voice was low as he kept talking. "Where the rich elderly can live out the rest of their life in utmost luxury." He paused and Trunks nodded again, a bit hesitantly this time. "A place", Vegeta continued, "where every manner of pain could be remedied with a pill or a needle. A place... out of the way?"  
  
"No! That's not what I meant at all," Trunks fumbled. He had thought he knew the battleground. Despite the baffling scene in the kitchen he had been sure Vegeta would just shrug in dismissal. He had not expected icy reason. He had forgotten how his father sometimes could become bitingly eloquent, and sometimes close to magnificent in flaming passion.  
  
Vegeta's face tightened in anger. Slowly he walked closer to Trunks and he did not stop until he had to tilt his chin up to stare into his son's eyes.  
  
With something like wonder Trunks noticed that Vegeta was smaller then him, not only shorter but also more slender. He could have been a youth, for the way he looked. The line-less face did nothing to break the illusion. This revelation did not fill Trunks with any feelings of protectiveness or something like that. On the contrary, his father's youthful looks brought godlike immortality to mind, his smallness in body only underlined the world-shattering power it harboured. Trunks knew that the man in front of him could _smell_ his fear. _He was not human._  
  
"Now you listen to me, Trunks. There is _no way_ that Bulma is going to move out of this house. She..."  
  
Just like that, Vegetas anger vanished. He backed away a few steps. When he spoke next sadness pulled at his voice. "Don't you understand, boy? Your mother... she's dying."  
  
"Father..." Sympathy was slow to come, it seemed better to be rational. "Mother's more then ninety years old. Her dying is the most natural thing in the world."  
  
"What_ever_!"  
  
"She's very old." Trunks caught himself talking to Vegeta as if his father had been some kind of wild animal, totally unpredictable and liable to bite at any moment. He made soothing gestures with his hands. "She's not healthy anymore. She's confused and perhaps she's in pain. Don't you think a doctor, or at least a nurse, should be at her side?"  
  
"The doctors have been here, boy. There's nothing they can do. And yes, I can take care of her; I've taken care of her for some time now."  
  
It was just a bit hard to accept.  
  
"What about your training?"  
  
"My training is important, more important then you know."  
  
Now what was _that_ supposed to mean?  
  
Vegeta was silent for moment, before he dropped the bomb.  
  
"I'm not training anymore."  
  
After that, it didn't seem to be anything more to say. Trunks was soon walking across the lawn, autumn dew wetting his shoes. His father's parting words kept going round in his head.  
  
"Come back soon. Your mother would like to see you again."


	2. Vulnerable

**Chapter Two**

"I'm sorry."

The doctor was talking to Trunks. He glanced briefly at Vegeta, but then dismissed him. No one had bothered to explain the black-haired man's relationship to the patient.

"Your mother's body is shutting down. It's only a matter of days now."

Bulma had been bedridden for a few weeks, with neither strength nor inclination for talking. Vegeta had left her side only when she was sleeping and even then he never left her for long. What the doctor was saying was no news to him. Bulma was close to leaving now, he could feel it. He could feel her presence slowly diminishing, like a tree shedding its leaves one at a time. There were only a few precious ones left.

"Are you sure?" Trunks asked.

"I'm sorry", the doctor said again.

---

Vegeta allowed himself to think ahead for a moment. Soon Bulma would be gone, her bright presence totally snuffed out. He found himself pitifully unprepared.

For a long time, he had sought his definition of himself in her mind. He had used her as a shield against his past; his past madness, his past demons his past self. Often she had bragged that she had changed him, tamed him, even. That had been true as far as he had wanted it to be true. What he never told her was how desperately he had depended upon her once. She had been his island of tranquility, his one shelter when he had most needed it.

Did he still need her? This he asked himself while he was putting dirty sheets in the washing machine. He was going to miss her, of this he had no doubt. His grief was as inevitable as her death. But was it possible that losing her also could make him lose... control. Was it possible that her death could affect him more deeply than he had ever considered?

He sat down on a chair and watched the machine fill up with water as he pondered the question: What would Bulma's death turn him into?

---

Trunks had actually forgotten to call his sister until she herself appeared on the television news as if to remind him. There she was, talking excitedly into a microphone, the wind whipping her short blue hair. She looked very much like Bulma had looked when she was young.

Trunks stared at her, a bit baffled, before he started listening to what she was saying.

"...as yet unconfirmed. But it is no longer any question whether the ship is of extraterrestrial origin or not. The speculations run rampant as of who the aliens are and why they are here. We will be reporting twenty-four hours a day, bringing you the latest on the alien visitors. This is Bra Briefs, East City, ZTV.

To contact Bra was easy. Trunks simply called the ZTV station and they put him through to her. She was talking in a cell-phone so her face did not appear on the screen. He only heard her voice, loud and full of energy.

"Trunks! I knew you would call me!"

"You did?"

"Yes! Isn't it exciting, you couldn't possibly have missed it! There's a big-ass ship floating in the atmosphere right above East City." Words were tumbling out of her. "People are crazy here! Hey, watch it! That car nearly killed me." She laughed.

"Yeah, um, let's talk about that later. I have something bad to tell you."

"What is it, Trunks? What happened?" Suddenly her voice was dead serious.

"It's mother. She's really ill. The doctor... he said that it was only a matter of days now." Despite himself, Trunks felt tears pushing at the back of his throat.

"Oh." Bra was silent for awhile. "I'm coming straight home. This is horrible. How's daddy taking it?"

"I... Not too bad, I guess. Listen, she's getting some good painkillers and she's in absolutely no pain. She looks pretty peaceful actually."

There was an awkward moment as they both tried to think of something to say. Bra was first to break the silence.

"As I said, I'm coming home at once. I'll just quit this job."

"Since when are you a TV-reporter anyway?" Trunks asked curiously.

"Since last week. I met this guy, nothing serious, and he talked me into trying it. Said I had the right looks. Silly, isn't it?"

"I guess. I'll see you soon then."

---

Bulma lay in the bed with her eyes closed. She was not asleep, but she was drifting, her thoughts vague and slow. A while back Vegeta had given her water. He had tried to make her eat some food, but gave up the attempts when she clearly did not want any. Now he just sat there on a chair by the bed and quietly observed her.

Lying on her back like that, her face was rather smooth. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her mouth closed and her hands rested heavily on top of the sheets. She looked solemn, almost stern. Vegeta watched her attentively, and unconsciously his own face was set in the same lines as hers, his mouth solemn, his brow slightly furrowed.

"Daddy?"

Vegeta did not move.

"Dad!"

Slowly Vegeta lifted his eyes from Bulma's still form and saw his daughter standing in the doorway. He gave her a slight nod before his eyes returned to Bulma. His attention had never left the women in the bed.

Bra sat down next to Vegeta and took one of her mother's hands.

"Oh, mom", she said and caressed the limp hand between her own young ones. She blinked and tears ran unabashed down her cheeks. "Mom, can you hear me? It's Bra."

"Let her rest", Vegeta said flatly.

"Of course." Bra let go of Bulmas hand and straightened her back. She wiped her tears away and sighed.

"Are... are you alright, dad?"

She had not really expected an answer and neither did she get any.

They both sat in silence for some time. The only sound in the room was the occasional patter from the rain as a gust of wind blew the drops against the window.

---

Bra moved uneasily on the hard chair. It was now totally dark outside and the only light in the room was the thin beam emanating from the hallway. She suddenly got the dismal feeling that she was alone in the darkened room. Her parents might as well have been silhouettes of statues.

"Dad," she whispered. He did not move and her whispers grew more insistent. "She's asleep. Let's go to the kitchen, I'm hungry."

He turned his head to face her. For a second the light from the hallway was reflected in his eyes and made them glitter like glass.

"Let's go", she said again and stood up. With both hands she grabbed his upper arm and pulled. She knew very well that she could not move him against his will, but after a moment he got up and followed her. They both stopped and blinked in the hallway before their eyes adjusted to the brightness. Bra looked closely at Vegeta for the first time since she had come home. As usual his face was dark and closed. Maybe, she thought, he looked a bit tired. He was barefoot, she noticed, his bare toes looking strangely defenseless against the gray stone floor.

She was still holding his arm, and suddenly it occurred to her that he had lost weight. As always his arm was hard with muscles, but they were slightly less accentuated then she remembered. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again when he pulled back his arm. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw indecision in his face, before he looked away.

When Bulma was gone he would be completely alone, she realized. She herself was losing her aged mother, but he was losing the woman that for a very long time had been his only companion. Somehow that seemed like the greater tragedy.

She wanted to cry again for the unfairness of it all.

"Come on, dad", she said. "You must be hungry too."

---

Vegeta pushed the plate back. Some of the food was still untouched. As he was not training he did not eat nearly as much as he used to.

He could feel Bra's concerned eyes on him, but she did not say anything.

He still kept part of his attention on Bulma, ready to go to her when she started to wake up. He was tired, but ignored it. There was time enough to sleep later.

The presence of the girl was soothing and it actually made him relax. Her concern, he thought, was not offensive. He gave her a long estimating gaze across the table, a look that she met with a raised eyebrow.

The girl was brave, he mused.

She was no warrior and she had never wanted to be. She did not know how to fight, and like Bulma she wore her heart on her face for all to see.

Vulnerable.

Still, she was fearless.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He almost smiled.

Together they walked to the door and he followed her outside. They both stopped to watch the span of stars in the dark sky above them. The sight was spectacular.

Abruptly she turned to him and pulled him close in a hug. Her arms were around his neck in a vice-like grip and her cheek pressed against his. First he stiffened, but then he relaxed and lowered his head to rest it on her shoulder. It felt good. He hugged her back, just for a moment. Then he pulled away.

Again, her blue eyes were shimmering with tears. But she was also smiling, very slightly.

"Goodnight, daddy", she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Vegeta followed her straight figure with his eyes as she walked towards the main building. He took a deep breath of the crisp air. The scent of her lingered. It made him remember the affectionate little child that she once had been. After all this time it still felt wrong, and somehow overwhelming, that he had children of his own.

A familiar thought surfaced, and as usual it filled him with a nauseating sense of exhilaration:

_I have killed billions.  
_  
The stars glittered coldly as he turned his back on them and entered the house again. He could feel Bulma starting to wake up. He did not want her to wake up alone in a dark room.

As he sat down on his chair by her side the unwelcome thought came to him once again.

_I have killed billions.  
_  
---

"Don't you think we should call someone?" Bra said.

"Like who?" Trunks asked. He was busy organising several piles if papers containing sketches of the next year's budget for the CC Company. He did not like the numbers he read.

"Well, she had quite a few close friends, you know." Bra tapped her index finger to her cheek in a thoughtful manner. "I know it's been awhile, but we should at least call Son Gohan."

"You're right." Trunks put the papers away. "Who else?"

"Levi. Remember how close he was to his grandmother. Besides, I can't wait to meet my little nephew again."

"Not so little anymore", Trunks muttered.

Bra didn't seem to listen. She inhaled sharply and smiled as a thought came to her.

"Actually... I think there're a lot of people we should invite."

She started to pace in a tight circle as she talked excitedly.

"I can't stop thinking about that alien ship. I believe something major is going on. Just turn on the TV and you'll see how worked up everyone is about this. People are hysterical, some talk about war and some behave like God has come to visit. And no one has even seen these aliens yet!"

Bra stopped pacing and assumed a more considering look, a look that did little to hide her excitement.

"There's one thing, though, that the people of Earth doesn't know ..." She whispered dramatically: "There are already half-alien walking amongst them!"

She continued with her normal tone of voice.

"I think it would be a good idea if everyone with Saiyan blood, married to one of us or whatever, would come together and talk. We should make up plans, some common strategy or something like that. What do you think?"

Trunks nodded.

"I think that would be wise. After all, it's been a long time since we all came together. Not since those parties that mother used to arrange..."

"It's settled then. We shall have a family meeting. The Sons and the Briefs'."


	3. On proper behavior

Chapter three  
  
"Shit!"  
  
The train made an abrupt turn that almost caused the fifteen-year-old boy to fall headfirst into the aluminium bowl.  
  
Levi Briefs was standing on one leg, pulling on a pair of frayed jeans. He tore off his white shirt and let it carelessly fall on the bathroom floor. Reaching into a plastic bag, he pulled out a black T-shirt that had the words 'IRON MAIDEN' written in large letters on the back.  
  
With his school uniform in one hand he went back to his compartment and sank down in an empty seat by the window. It felt good to be out of the uniform. He had never liked the school that his parents had sent him to and during this last month he had starting to hate it with a passion. Outside the window the trees rushed by in blinding speed.  
  
Following an impulse, Levi pushed the window open. He leaned his face close to the opening, letting the wind steal his breath for a moment. Then he started pushing his school uniform out the window. He was careful to get every article of clothing: his jacket, the west, and the blue tie too. They tore through the window and disappeared behind the speeding train, just like the trees.  
  
The passenger opposite Levi gave him a short stare. Then he looked away, so that he would not embarrass them both by witnessing the youth's irrational behaviour.  
  
Levi leaned back and tried to relax. Absentmindedly he stroked a knuckle on his right hand. The tiny cut had almost stopped bleeding.  
  
Today he had been in a fight, his first fight ever. He and Will, another boy in the school, had been at odds for years. Being the son of the mightiest president in the world, Will had expected respect and obedience and usually he got it; but not from Levi. After years of enduring the other boy's hostility and overbearing ways, Levi had accepted his challenge for a fight.  
  
Levi could still hear the loud cheering from the boys that had surrounded them as they stood ready in the usual battleground behind the gym. And then the cheers had silenced. A fight they might have cheered, but not this, not a beating. Something like that deserved only silence. At the end Will was bruised and bleeding. One of his eyes had already swollen shut and a disturbing amount of blood was pouring out of his broken nose. The son of the president of the North Continent might have to carry the marks from this fight on his face for the rest of his life. The only mark on Levi was a small cut on his knuckle from one of his opponent's teeth.  
  
Levi would probably have been expelled if any of the boys had told the principal that he was the one that had beaten Will, but no one did. They called it a code of honour. It was not the first beating in the school's history.  
  
Ever since he, nine years old, first had come to the exclusive boarding school, he had only wanted to get away. In the beginning he had missed his family all the time. True, his father and mother worked a lot, but he still used to see them nearly every day. When he was very young he had refused to go to bed before his parents had come home. He had missed his grandmother Bulma too. As a child he had often visited her and she had completely enthralled him with exciting stories about her adventurous youth.  
  
He had soon learned that it was very important in the school who your parents were. All he had to do was to say 'Capsule Corporation', and his place in the hierarchy was decided. Not on the top, but close to it. He was definitely higher up then his roommate, who was the prince of some small island country.  
  
Levi stroked the small cut again. Touching it made it sting. His parents, especially his mother Miranda, had often told him to never hit another person and never to use violence. He could understand this. After all, what kind of parents would want their child to get into fights? Martial arts had also been explicitly forbidden, ever since his mother had seen Vegeta instructing the boy on how to properly make a fist.  
  
The sight of her son's small head attentively bent over Vegeta's fist had made her heart stop in her chest. Lavender-coloured hair, just like his father's, had obscured the boy's face and he seemed even younger than his five years. Vegeta had taken the boy's hand and, folding the fingers, he had formed it into a tiny fist.  
  
"Bend your thumb in like this", he had said gruffly.  
  
This lesson had been on Levi's mind at the fight this morning. The other boy was used to fighting, he had taken boxing lessons and he had used his knowledge frequently in the secluded yard behind the gym. Levi had not been sure that he would win. He had just made a fist and used it.  
  
And he had liked it.  
  
Afterwards, this was what had disturbed him the most. It had felt good to hit the other boy, good in his hands and good in his mind.  
  
Levi shivered, and the passenger opposite him turned away once again.  
  
The call from his aunt telling him to come home could not have come at a better time. Levi felt more at ease the farther away he got from the school.  
  
I'm not going back, he thought. Whatever happens, I'm never going back to that school.  
  
* * *  
  
The presence of death lay heavily over the people gathered in the large living room. They talked in lowered voices and said very little. The occasional cheerful shriek from the children playing outside did nothing to brighten the mood. The guests had arrived this morning, with sombre faces and with carefully worded questions: 'How is she? How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do to help?'  
  
They had all at some point gone to Bulma's bedroom to stay with her for some time. Levi too, had followed his father to stand helplessly by her bedside. She hardly seemed like she was breathing and it almost felt like an intrusion on her privacy to witness her like this. Trunks tried to come up with something to say, but he could not. Vegeta's silent presence had soon chased them from the room.  
  
* * *  
  
The TV was turned on but the sound was muted. Disconnected pictures paraded remorselessly in a never-ending stream.  
  
Bra turned away from the flickering screen to face the people in the room. She straightened and cleared her throat. Her eyes were red around the edges, her hair a mess. She might have been the only one in the room right now that could broach the subject of the alien ship without showing disrespect to Bulma.  
  
"I don't understand why they are just sitting there!" she said forcefully. "It's like they're waiting for something."  
  
Bra let her eyes wander expectantly between the seven other persons in the room. Trunks was sitting on the couch next to his wife and their son. At her statement he frowned and shook his head in a bewildered manner. The boyish Goten was curled up in a large stuffed chair with Pan and Videl standing on either side of him. Mother and daughter exchanged questioning stares. Gohan stood by the large panoramic window, with a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"Perhaps," Gohan said slowly. "Perhaps they actually are waiting for something."  
  
"Splendid," Bra said dryly. "And while they are taking their good time waiting, a lot of things are happening here on Earth."  
  
She already held the remote control in her hand, and she used it to raise the volume on the TV.  
  
The screen was showing large military tanks lumbering along a deserted city street. A disembodied voice that sounded very official, was reporting:  
  
"...evacuation of East City is almost completed. The military forces of the North Continent are now entering the city. An eerie silence hangs over this formerly busy metropolis. A feeling of impending doom..."  
  
Bra suddenly raised the control and turned the TV completely off. She took one step toward the doorway.  
  
"Dad?" she breathed.  
  
Everyone followed her startled gaze to where Vegeta was standing. No one had seen or heard him entering the room. He was dressed entirely in black and was standing in his familiar pose, with his legs wide and his arms crossed over his muscular chest. A ripple of unease went through the group. They found it nearly impossible to meet Vegeta's eyes.  
  
"Well," he said. "Go on."  
  
For a moment no one said anything, but then Gohan lowered his head in a slight nod.  
  
"As we were saying, we have no knowledge of who the aliens are, or what they want."  
  
The eldest Son had changed over the years from shy and nervous to calm and assured. His voice was low and confident, it made people stop and listen.  
  
"As we just heard, the North has taken it upon themselves to send forces to East City, they are obviously preparing for the worst. I have heard reports that they are bringing enough nuclear missiles to destroy the ship a thousand times over. All across Earth the air-force are being armed with the deadliest and most devastating of weapons."  
  
Vegeta gave a brief snort. Gohan paused, but nobody seemed inclined to interrupt him further.  
  
"At the same time," Gohan continued, absentmindedly straightening his glasses. "At the same time the spokesman for the Union of All States is advocating a more peaceful approach. Since the aliens' arrival, continued transmissions have been sent, trying to make contact, but to no avail. About an hour ago I heard that they are preparing a Union space cruiser so that the spokesman might personally meet with the visitors. The situation is most unstable."  
  
"I don't see what the big deal is." Goten suddenly spoke up. He straightened in his chair and fixed his elder brother with a frowning pout.  
  
"It can only go two ways," Goten said. "If the aliens are friends, then everything is alright. If not..."  
  
Goten abruptly raised from the chair where he had been sitting and turned to face the whole room. A wide, carefree grin spread over his open visage, a smile that seemed very inappropriate, considering Bulma lay on her deathbed just down the hallway. His voice rang out, filled with innocent self-assurance.  
  
"If they want to mess with us, then they have come to the wrong planet! Together we have more power then anything in the universe, the gods included!"  
  
The room seemed to darken and grow brighter at the same time. Deep shadows appeared and vanished and a crooked line of electricity ran across the floor, as Goten without warning ascended into super saiyan. His aura was almost blinding, and the sheer force whirling around him made the air move and the doors of the glass cabinet rattle.  
  
"Power down."  
  
No one could help but react to the great manifestation of power in the room. Pan closed her hands into hard fists and light sizzled around her knuckles. Strands of Trunks' light hair were flouting in the air.  
  
"Power down, you idiots!"  
  
Vegeta's angry voice struck down like a whip, causing several of the others to flinch. Immediately Goten released his form and the glowing aura surrounding him vanished.  
  
The power whirling in the room had disappeared, but the air still seemed charged with electricity. Videl patted her hair to make it lay flat on her head.  
  
"Fool." Vegeta gave the youngest of the Son brothers a disdainful stare. Goten visible cowered under the shorter man's scorn.  
  
Vegeta was opening his mouth to say something more, but suddenly his attention appeared to be caught by something outside the room that no one else could detect. His dark eyes saw right through Goten as if he had lost all interest in the demi-saiyan. Then Vegeta turned on his heel and left, his footsteps almost completely silent, giving the stunned group the uneasy impression that he had disappeared like a ghost.  
  
"He's right, you know," Gohan said, taking a deep breath. He seemed determined to pick up the scolding where Vegeta had left off.  
  
"That was a rash and foolish thing to do. If the ship is equipped with ki- sensors there could have been no better way of letting them know we are here."  
  
"Would that be such a bad thing?" Goten said defensively.  
  
"Yes it would, and for a number of reasons. If they know about us, that would most certainly make us involved in whatever happens. In order not to have our hands forced, we should stay inconspicuous for as long as possible."  
  
"I agree," Trunks said. "If the aliens are harmless I would prefer to let things continue just as they have been. I have responsibility for a large corporation. If we are exposed as something different than human, that would make business difficult, to say the least."  
  
"True," his wife Miranda interjected. "Who knows what will happen if things start to heat up."  
  
Levi sat silently on the couch between his parents. He felt shy and a bit uncertain in the presence of the adults, several which were half strangers to him. The whole situation felt like a surrealistic dream.  
  
Since he had arrived home the only exchange that had felt completely normal had been when his father had greeted him with: "Do you have to wear that shirt?" This he had answered with: "But Dad, they're classics." Now Levi wished that he had obeyed his father and changed. He held his forearms self- consciously crossed over his stomach in order to obscure part of the picture on the T-shirt. The image showed a large demon, holding an enormous battle-axe, standing on a pile of dead bodies. The axe, as well as the bodies, was drenched in bright red blood.  
  
The youth's heart was still pounding hard as a reaction from Goten's temporary transformation. Once, when he still had been a small child, he had seen his father undergo the same impressive change. But it was so long ago that he almost had started to believe that it never had happened. Levi forced himself to listen to what Gohan was saying.  
  
"It is not only our own situation that we have to consider," Gohan said. "We should also remember that this is the first opportunity for Earth to establish a relationship with another civilisation. If we get involved right now it could mean that we might sabotage such a relationship."  
  
Gohan paused expectantly and was met with nods and small sounds of agreement.  
  
"It might be wisest to stay out of this as much as possible," he continued. "We'll leave it to the legitimate representatives of the people of Earth to deal with the visitors. Unless, of course, the aliens are hostile and we'll have no choice but to defend the Earth with force."  
  
Again his words were met with a round of nods.  
  
"It's decided, then."  
  
All of a sudden a troubled look crossed Gohan's face. His eyes fastened on the empty doorway that Vegeta recently had occupied. He did not have to say anything; they all knew what he was thinking. Not everyone had agreed not to interfere.  
  
As usual, Vegeta would keep his own counsel. 


	4. Goodbye Bulma

Chapter four  
  
The sun was sinking beneath the horizon in a shower of gold. The last rays lit up the whole western sky and set the stray clouds on fire.  
  
Vegeta was oblivious to the brilliant view outside the window. His whole being was focused on Bulma. He observed her every breath and kept a close watch over the calm waters of her mind.  
  
Suddenly, Vegeta was on his feet and gripped the frame of the bed. He leaned over Bulma, almost as if he was sniffing her prone form.  
  
Something was happening. A ripple went through her resting mind, the calm waters was disturbed. She did not move a muscle, but to Vegeta it seemed like her whole body had started to jerk and thrash. He began to feel a dull ache behind his right eye. She was in pain, he felt the pain clearly, but he also felt something else. Something that made his throat contract, his eyes widen with a sense of admiration: He felt a great effort in her, a relentless gathering of will. He leaned even closer.  
  
"Dad, what's happening?"  
  
Bra was standing beside him. How long she had been there, he did not know.  
  
"She's waking up", he murmured.  
  
Bulma was waking up, perhaps more fully than she had in weeks, or in years. Spaces and corridors that he had thought forever lost were gradually illuminated once again, until the bright vitality of her mind was nearly restored.  
  
She opened her eyes.  
  
* * * *  
  
Bra was walking down the hallway, taking long unsteady strides. With every step all she wanted to do was to sag down on her knees and weep. Memories were tumbling through her head with a clarity that made them appear almost like visions, blinding in their intensity.  
  
| Her mother, cheerful and laughing. |  
  
| Bulma, pulling a comb through her silky hair, smiling down at her daughter. |  
  
| Laying the comb aside. Picking the child up. |  
  
| Holding her tight. |  
  
| Bulma, waving merrily at the departing car. |  
  
| Bra, twisting in the seat, waving back through the rear window. |  
  
Mother...!  
  
| This is goodbye. |  
  
* * * *  
  
"She's awake," Bra said with numb, blood-less lips.  
  
Trunks stood up at once, slight alarm on his face. Gohan also followed as she, without saying another word, turned and started to walk back to Bulma's room.  
  
Silently they stepped up to the large bed.  
  
Her eyes were striking, completely calm, and blue like the deepest part of the summer sky. All life seemed to have focused in those eyes, her face totally relaxed. Bulma looked from one person to the next, perhaps she saw them, perhaps not.  
  
"Mom," Bra said, lightly taking Bulma's hand. She sobbed loudly when she felt her mother's fingers move and slowly squeeze down on her own.  
  
"Bra." Bulma's voice was little above a whisper.  
  
Once again her eyes moved between the four people standing by the side of her bed. This time there was no doubt that she registered their presence. Her face was open and alert.  
  
"Gohan," she breathed. "How good of you to come."  
  
"Anytime, Bulma," Gohan said, his voice husky.  
  
Bulma closed her eyes and for a short moment her face twisted as if from pain. She took a large shuddering breath and opened her eyes again.  
  
"I have been sick, haven't I?" she said vaguely.  
  
There was a deep silence in the room before Gohan answered.  
  
"Yes. You have been ill."  
  
"I dreamt..." She faltered. "I was dreaming..."  
  
Suddenly, her face was filled with alarm.  
  
"Vegeta? Vegeta?" Her inquiry was interlaced with urgency.  
  
"I'm here," Vegeta immediately answered. His voice was calm, soothing.  
  
"Good," Bulma said, reassured at once. Almost indifferently, she added, "You'll behave when I'm gone, won't you?"  
  
"I promise."  
  
"I dreamt..." she started again. Her eyelids slowly started to droop.  
  
"I'm tired", Bulma said abruptly. "You can all leave me now."  
  
This was greeted by a stunned silence. Bra broke it with a short laugh that sounded as if it had been ripped from her throat against her will.  
  
"Alright, Mom." She leaned down and kissed Bulma on her cheek. "We'll let you rest."  
  
Trunks too, bent down and pressed his lips to his mother's soft cheek.  
  
"Goodnight, Mom," he whispered.  
  
Bulma closed her eyes. She sighed.  
  
A few moments passed and then she opened her eyes once again.  
  
"Are you still here?" This time her voice was strong and interlaced with impatience. "I told you I was going to rest now."  
  
Bulma then turned to Vegeta, dismissing the others entirely. She smiled, a smile full of affection and kindness.  
  
"Vegeta," she sighed. "Come to bed, honey."  
  
Ignoring the stares directed at him, Vegeta lifted the sheets and crawled into the bed. He lay down close to her, his back to the others, and wrapped one arm around her fragile body.  
  
"Come. Let's leave them alone," Gohan whispered. Trunks and Bra both nodded.  
  
Silently, they exited the room.  
  
* * * *  
  
Bra and Trunks were alone in the heartless reality of the kitchen. Bra leaned back, her warm hands pressed against the refrigerator door. Trunks was standing by the sink, slowly drinking a glass of water.  
  
"Should we really leave them alone like that?" Trunks said tentatively and fiddled with the empty glass he was holding.  
  
"Yes, I think so," Bra replied. Her expressive face was filled with doubt. She added, though, and with much more conviction: "It felt right."  
  
The image of their parents as she had last seen them suddenly flashed before her eyes and with it come the strangest sense of foreboding.  
  
"Trunks..." she started, trying to form her dark feeling into words. "I'm scared. It's like we're losing them both."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm not sure, it's just..." She stood silent for a moment. When she continued, her voice held an angry, almost accusative tone. "Aren't you worried about what this might do to Dad? What's he going to do with his life when she's gone?"  
  
Trunks looked at her, a bit taken aback.  
  
"I haven't really thought about it," he admitted. "I just, you know, assumed that he would continue on as normal."  
  
"Continue on as normal! You talk as if he would just shrug it off."  
  
"So what you're saying is that father might... what? Die out of grief?" He sounded like that was the most ludicrous thing he could imagine.  
  
"Perhaps I am", she snapped back. "He's not as strong as you think, Trunks. In some ways he's really quite sensitive."  
  
"Sorry, sis," Trunks said, shaking his head. "I know you love him, but you're delusional. The man's about as sensitive as a block of granite."  
  
Bra straightened from her leaning position and walked aimlessly to the table and back. She hated the tension in the room, but felt that however hard the conversation was, she had to continue.  
  
"You know how Dad is," she finally said. "He detests anything he perceives as a weakness, particularly in himself. Shouldn't the fact that he so rarely talks about himself or his feelings tell us something?"  
  
"He thinks ordinary human sentiment is a weakness", Trunks said harshly. "So what else is new?"  
  
"You're missing the point!" Bra took a deep breath to calm down. "Daddy is awfully smart, smarter then anyone I know. Whatever weakness he's hiding, it must be very real."  
  
"I'm not even sure he cares. He never had a loving word..."  
  
"Trunks!" she interrupted. "Big brother... dearest... STUFF your bitterness! This isn't about you."  
  
"I was talking about mother!" He sounded defensive, but also unhappy. Like a small boy that was unfairly accused.  
  
"He loves her." All anger was suddenly gone from her voice. "I know he does. He maybe never showed it openly when we were kids, but now, when she really needs him, he has truly been there for her. He hasn't left her side for a minute and he has done everything to make it easier for her. She's more important to him then anything else, can't you see that?"  
  
"He did stop training so he could take care of her," Trunks admitted. He was nodding slightly, not fully agreeing with his sister, but he was starting to accept some of the things she was saying.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "Sometimes I need things spelled out for me, if you know what I mean."  
  
She smiled sadly and moved into his arms. They held each other in silence, both glad for the support.  
  
"Things aren't going to continue on as normal, are they," Trunks finally said. "Whatever happens, everything will change."  
  
"Yeah." Her voice was the merest whisper against his chest. "Everything is changing."  
  
* * * *  
  
Vegeta laid with his eyes closed. He felt Bulma's soft hair against his lips. He felt the slight movement of her body as she was breathing. He was breathing in the same rhythm as her, feeling her thoughts, her pain, her fear. And he tried, tried, tried to make things easier for her.  
  
~What is happening to me?~ Her thought was as clear as if she was speaking it out loud. It was clearer.  
  
~You were going to sleep. Remember?~ He did his best to convey reassurance and calmness, but it was hard. ~Go to sleep. I will not leave you.~  
  
Perhaps she responded. Perhaps she was calmed. But then the pain was back, stronger then ever, and with it came wave upon wave of anguish and fear.  
  
~This is wrong! Something feels wrong! What is wrong with me!?~  
  
She could not hear him. She could not hear him trying to comfort her.  
  
Barriers.  
  
No barriers.  
  
He let it all down. No last reservations.  
  
He entered her mind.  
  
~ Pain. This was no ordinary pain. This was the heart being wrenched by its root. This was every cell in the body grinding to a final halt. This was the soul screaming, yes howling, in denial. Always a fighter, he thought. Never to give up. But, Bulma. This is when you should give up. Please. Please. Just this once.  
  
Darkness. A child was crying in the dark. 'Protect me,' she sobbed. 'Why am I being punished? Make it go away.' He tried, but he could not even reach her. There was a wail in the air. A young woman screamed, he saw her, knew her, tried to take her in his arms. And she was angry, screaming: 'Do something! Do something! Don't just stand there! Can't you see I'm in pain! Vegeta! Vegetavegetavegetavegetavegetavegetavegeta.' A wail in the air.  
  
Silence. He was kneeling by an old woman lying on her back, wearing a thin, white nightgown. Ancient, she was. All characteristics to mark her distinctly as a woman was washed away by time. She was just a human being, with a gentle smile and bottomless sky-blue eyes. Beautiful. She grabbed his hand, attempting to comfort, he realized. She. Comfort him. 'Do not worry,' he thought he heard her say. 'I will protect the child.'  
  
Peace. They fell asleep together, his arm around her, his lips touching her hair.~  
  
* * * *  
  
Bra opened her eyes. She rose from the couch where she had been nodding off and looked out of the window. It was the middle of the night, she could see the stars clearly. It seemed very cold outside, the window glittered as if covered in frost.  
  
She walked down the hallway, her fingertips trailing the wall. Everything was so silent, so still.  
  
When the came to her parents' room she stood in the darkness for a long moment before she reached for the light-switch.  
  
They were both dead. Certainty hit her stomach and froze her in place, one hand on the light-switch, the other reaching for something, anything.  
  
Bulma lay on her back. Her eyes were closed and her mouth had fallen open. No doubt. She was gone. Vegeta was turned toward Bulma, with one arm around her midsection and his chin resting against her shoulder.  
  
He drew a breath. Bra could see it now. Her father's black-clad back was slowly moving with every new breath. He was not dead.  
  
Vegeta was fast asleep. 


	5. A promise

Chapter five 

The night was calm. A peaceful silence lay over the shadowy room.

Vegeta slowly opened his eyes. He was wearing a gentle, relaxed expression, a small, almost undetectable, smile rested on his lips. He was still half-asleep and the dream lingered. He had been... somewhere beautiful. He had been someplace that was bright and safe and beautiful beyond belief. It had just been a dream, though, and it was quickly fading. The gentleness fled his countenance and was replaced with alarm as a bolt of anxiety went through his body.

Bulma.

He sat up in the bad and grabbed her hand. It was still warm. He had to force himself to raise his head and look at her face. When he saw her, his breath caught in his throat. Her well-known features intuitively awoke in him a sense of tender affection. Just looking at her had always made him feel better, lighter, and warmer. Only this time the feeling was a lie. She was gone – he sensed it clearly. She was empty, just a shell of flesh laying there on the white sheets, mimicking the woman that for so long had been a second beating in his heart.

No...

Unable to look at her any longer he let go, almost pushing her away, and walked a few unsteady steps to the middle of the floor. There he hunched over, the fingers of both his hands covering his mouth in an oddly childlike gesture. He felt numb. Dizzy. Like he was falling.

_Shake it of, Vegeta, _he distantly heard himself say. _So now she's dead. You know this was happening, you have known it for a long time. What's the matter with you? He tried to fight this strange numbness, knowing somehow that it was dangerous, that it would leave him open and exposed. But he was sinking, deeper and deeper into a calm nothingness. It laid itself around him like a blanket._

His gaze wandered to the lamp, to the darkened window, to the chair by the wall. He stared at the objects without feeling much of anything. Nothing had any meaning, perhaps he could have turned around and looked at Bulma without even recognising her. His stunned eyes fastened on a large grandfather clock and he stared at it as if it had suddenly become very important. As if it could provide some sort of explanation.

The numbers displayed on the clock face was archaic and the swinging pendulum was the shape of an arrowhead. It was a heavy clock, filled with decorative carvings. He stared at it as if he had never seen it before. Then memory flooded him. How could he not have recognised the thing? Bulma's mother had treasured it and he had often seen her, dusting cloth in hand, caressing its shining curves. Bulma had not though much of the clock, calling it primitive and downright ugly. Later though, for some reason that was beyond him, she had suddenly started to love it. She had insisted that he should carry it into their bedroom, where the endless tick-tack sound kept him awake at night. The annoying thing had even marked the hours with several loud clangs that had brought him very close to smashing it to pieces just to silence it once and for all. He had hid his head under the covers while Bulma had teased him relentlessly. Laughing, she had said that she found the ticking soothing and that he would get used to it. This he had answered with –

And then, just like that, something inside him broke. His mind shattered. It was a simple thing, really. No loud screams, no surging powers. If there had been a sound it would have been a brittle crash, like a thin piece of glass falling on the floor, spreading sharp, glittering shards everywhere.

Vegeta fell to his knees as thoughts and memories were tearing through his head in no particular order. His identity wavered and the last of his self-control slipped through his fingers. Memories that had stayed untouched for half a century rose up as if to claim recognition, and an old rage ripped and tore at weakening chains with obscene ease.

Frantically, he tried to find something to hold on to, some steady point in the storm.

Suddenly he heard a voice. It was a deep, confident voice that reverberated through the house and put a definite end to the silence.

*  *  *

Gohan searched for words, but he could find nothing to say to the weeping woman that was standing in front of him. He laid his hand on her slim shoulder and thought to himself that it was good, it was fitting, that someone like Bulma were grieved like this.

Tears were literally streaming down Bra's cheeks and huge shuddering sobs shook her body. Tears raised in Gohan's own eyes. He had hardly believed it when she had told him that Bulma really was dead, but slowly the truth was sinking in. Bulma... she had always been there. Now _he was the only one left who remembered the old days, when it all had started. _

Except for Vegeta.

"Is Vegeta...?" He was not sure how to finish.

"He's asleep." Bra tried to silence her sobbing and wiped her cheeks, but they were immediately wetted with new tears. "We should go to him."

"You're right." Gohan cleared his throat uneasily. He had no idea how Bulma's death might affect Vegeta, but he had a feeling that facing him would not be easy.

They had started moving toward the door, when the TV came to life behind them. They both turned their heads in surprise. The control laid untouched on the table.

"What in-"

Bra fell silent as several pale figures appeared on the screen. They were dressed in deep brown clothes that resembled uniforms. One of them was standing in front of the others and he had a broad pattern of gold around his collar.

"Hey!" Goten exclaimed from the doorway. He held a forgotten sandwich in his hand. "It's the aliens!"

Yes, it had to be.

The uniformed man standing in the front did resemble a human, but there was something undeniable... odd about him. His eyes were rounded, almost circular, giving the impression that he had no eyelids. But then he blinked, much like a human would.

Trunks, who had been wide-awake in one of the guestrooms, joined them just in time to hear the alien's first words. His voice boomed out of the speakers, slow and almost painfully loud.

"I am captain Asdef of the law-enforcing team number 49-5. In the name of the great Galaxy, I greet you, people of the Earth. This message is being sent to all receptor links on the planet surface. Lay down your weapons. We come in a mission of peace and security for the whole galaxy."

Gohan imagined how people all over the Earth let out a sigh of relief. He, too, was relieved. The visitors talked about peace.

"He's speaking in a different language," Bra murmured, somewhat cryptically. He gave her a questioning stare. Tears still glittered in her eyes, but they seemed forgotten for the moment. She studied the screen intently.

As the captain resumed his speech, Gohan suddenly realised what she had meant. The calm, almost pleasantly spoken words did not correspond with the movement of the alien's ashen lips. Under the booming voice, there was another, a sibilant hiss intermixed with harsh consonants. _Of course, Gohan thought. __They are translating their words so that we can understand them. Nevertheless, the discovery left him with an uneasy feeling and he listened to the continuing message with a vague sense of foreboding._

"We understand that our presence will alarm you. Since this planet is somewhat... isolated, information might have been slow to reach you."

A tight smile curved the captain's lips. Condescending, Gohan thought. He scowled. His impulse was to protect the people of the Earth, even from some alien's snootiness.

"It is my pleasure," the alien said, his voice expressionless, "to officially announce that the last vestiges of the destroyer Frieza's empire have been defeated. The galaxy, after a century of strife and discord, are finally united under one order and one rule. All hail the great Galaxy."

"Their leader calls himself 'The Galaxy'!" Goten hooted. "Pretty pre-presumptuous of him, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Gohan murmured. The bad feeling was getting worse. He found himself eyeing the alien that called himself "captain". The pale man stood stiffly and his movements seemed tense. While not particularly weak-looking, he still did not look like a warrior type.

He waited tensely on the alien's next words and only noticed in passing that Pan and Videl also had entered the room. A pair of running feet could be heard in the hallway. It seemed as if everyone in the house was drawn by the voice that disturbed the nightly calm.

The captain was silent for several seconds. He glanced to the side and almost appeared to hesitate. But when the smooth voice continued, there was impossible to detect any trace of uncertainty or doubt.

"It has come to our attention that the Earth is harbouring a fugitive. The last survivor of the tyrant Frieza's elite soldiers is hiding amongst you. His name is Vegeta. His crimes are terrifying. It is our duty to collect him, so he can face the justice of the Galaxy.

"What!?" Bra's exclamation was filled with disbelief.

"They're insane!" Pan shouted.

"Suicidal," Trunks murmured. His eyes were very wide.

The booming voice continued, and the group fell silent to listen. For some reason a sense of profound grief had risen up in Gohan's chest. Justice, they had said. _Oh, Vegeta. What now? How will this affect you?"_

"You will surrender Vegeta to us," the captain said. "If you comply with the laws of the Galaxy you have nothing to fear. However, if you refuse to obey the laws, it will be considered as an act of treason."

"What do they mean by _surrender him," Trunks spoke up. He sounded angry, and slightly indignant. "They can't possibly hold the Earth accountable for whatever father chooses to do!" _

"They're insane." Pan repeated. 

Bra just stared at the screen, her face pale.

The alien took a few steps forward, until he was so close that they clearly could see that he had neither eyebrows nor eyelashes. His beige hair was closely cut to the skull.

"People of the Earth, we are not your enemies, but this concerns the peace and security of the whole galaxy." For the first time the loud voice appeared to hesitate. "This is the hardest thing I have ever had to say..." He paused. "You have two of your weeks. If the felon Vegeta is not found and surrounded to us by then, we will be forced to eliminate him together with the planetoid on which he is presently residing. The law is clear, and we are the enforcers of the law."

The captain fell silent and stared out from the screen without blinking. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his thin lips. Abruptly the image flickered and disappeared.

They all stood in stunned silence, staring at the black screen.

Gohan felt tiny arms wrap themselves around his knee, and he looked down. Bra's youngest yawned up at him. _My responsibility, he thought. He felt cold. __They are all my responsibility._

Out loud he said, "I wish father was here."

* * *

Vegeta did not move a muscle as the words of the message washed over him. It was the strangest thing. His whirling mind echoed the hissing and slithering that crawled underneath the clear loud voice. He knew that language, he knew it very well.

Old memories responded, they hinted at an escape from all this, if he only was to surrender to the rage. If he only was to set the raging dog free. He could feel it, dark and debased, moving inside of him. Screaming for indulgence. The shadowy beast shifted its large body and he caught a glimpse of course black hair. Broken and jagged rows of teeth were exposed in a mindless snarl. The beast moved lethargically; snapped its bounds one at a time. Snap. Snap. Snap.

_No!_ His protest was clear and emphatic. He would _not_ give in, not freely and not willingly!

His resolve anchored him somewhat. The whirling storm inside of him stilled. The kaleidoscopic pieces of his mind settled, forming a subtle different pattern. At the core of this pattern there was an agonizing sense if _loss; _a cold, bottomless hole that could not possibly be healed, could not possibly be endured. He only wished for it to stop. Why couldn't it just stop? Oh... it could. He could end it all. A nearly bottomless well of power was his for the grasping. It was bright and beckoning, heavenly rich, immeasurable sweet.

All this pain could end in one magnificent blast of destruction. Why not? It would be so easy to just... let go. Yes, drink from the power and receive release. There would be no pain. No rage. No loss. Not this empty, bleeding hole in the place where he had once felt only smiling warmth and infinite affection.

"Bulma." He whispered her name. Time to end this.

_You want it to end, do you? _The icy voice was his own. It cut through his mind, filled with withering contempt. _Is this the prince of the Saiyans, on his knees, whimpering for the pain to end? You deserve no ending, Vegeta. You deserve no release._

Vegeta took a deep breath. Slowly, as if every movement took a monumental effort, he got to his feet. He raised his head. Too close – he had come too close. 

It still was not over. He knew with a chilling certainty that this victory was only temporally. The dark rage was growing inside him, and struggled with triumphal relish to break the last fetters. He turned around, carefully, as if even the smallest disturbance might end his fragile control.

There she lay. The flow of her soft white hair rested against the pillow, her chest stilled forever. When he saw her, he heard her final admonition, as clearly as if she was speaking to him from the other side: _Behave when I'm gone, Vegeta._ The memory further strengthened him in his resolve. He would not give in. _I promise._


	6. A broken window

Chapter six  
  
Pan's four-year-old daughter Veta slumped down on the floor and closed her eyes as if she was planning on going to sleep right there.  
  
Gohan leaned down and took the girl by the hand to help her up and lead her out of the crowded living room.  
  
"First of all," he murmured, "we're going to put _you_ to bed."  
  
His thoughts were deeply occupied with the message that he had just heard. He wondered how serious the situation was. Gohan thought of the alien captain and remembered how he had expressed regret in the same breath that he had threatened to destroy the planet. Perhaps the aliens could be reasoned with?  
  
A strong feeling of warning laced trough him. _Take no unnecessary chances_, he thought. _The safety of the Earth comes first_. He sighed; he did not relish the thought of another battle after so many years of peace.  
  
Though Gohan reminded himself not to underestimate the aliens he could not help but marvel over the superior attitudes in their threats. They could not possibly have any idea of the forces that were protecting the Earth.  
  
He suddenly smiled, imagining what his father might have said if he had still been with them. _He would have wished that they had possessed a power that made the stars tremble. He always did love a challenge._  
  
The girl tugged at his hand.  
  
"Tell me about Great-Grandpa," she said.  
  
"Alright," Gohan said quietly. He began as he always did. "Your great- grandpa is an angel, and he is watching over us and keeping us safe."  
  
"Even me?" the girl asked. She never seemed to grow tired of hearing the answer.  
  
"Of course you too!" Gohan looked down at her upturned face. "You know, once upon a time he lived in the house where you live now. He climbed the same trees and fished in the same river. Tell you what," Gohan said as he reached the door to the room that she shared with her sister. "When we get home, I'll take you girls fishing again, would you like that?"  
  
"Mhm," she murmured as she crawled into bed and he pulled the covers up to her chin. "What was his name?"  
  
"His name was Son Goku. He loved to play and to have fun, just like you do."  
  
"Do angels have fun?"  
  
"I-", Gohan started slightly and spun around when a shadowed figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. Vegeta.  
  
Gohan studied the older man anxiously, searched a face that was strained and rather pale. Gohan found it nearly impossible to meet his eyes, so very dark in that uncommonly pale face, not even reflecting the light.  
  
The girl in the bed craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the man that had just entered the room. Vegeta turned to her and their eyes locked.  
  
"Child", he said in a low voice. "Your grandfather is not telling you the truth." Vegeta stepped closer and stated darkly, "His name was Kakarott and he is no angel."  
  
The girl's eyes grow very wide, but then they narrowed in anger.  
  
"He is _too_ an angel!" Her sister turned in her sleep and made a small noise that sounded as if she was going to wake up. "If we really need him he will come back and save us. It's real magic!" She gave Gohan a demanding stare. "Tell him!"  
  
"I will." Gohan found himself blushing and hoped that no one would notice. "But it's time to sleep now. Don't let us wake up your sister."  
  
"Mhm." Veta yawned as she was reminded of her tiredness.  
  
"Goodnight," Gohan murmured when he left the room. To his relief Vegeta followed him.  
  
Gohan silently shut the door and turned to Vegeta. Once again he was confronted with that face of fixed control, a control that did little to hide the deep injury caused by his loss.  
  
"Vegeta, I'm so sorry..."  
  
Vegeta shook his head slightly, the movements short and fast. Clearly, he was warding Gohan away from the subject.  
  
A long silence followed. Vegeta turned his face aside, his gaze resting dully at the far wall. He looked like he might stay silent forever.  
  
Suddenly Gohan was gripped by a deep sense of urgency. They were wasting time!  
  
"I take it you heard the aliens' message," he said. "We need to find out how serious this threat is. For all we know, they are aiming some sort of terrible weapon at the Earth right now!" The undeniable truth of his own words chilled him.  
  
"I need to talk to them," Gohan continued. There was a fair amount of danger in his voice when he added, "Perhaps I can persuade them to leave."  
  
Vegata did not move or in any way acknowledge that he had heard him. But when Gohan started to leave, he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"It's me they want." His voice was flat and monotonous.  
  
Gohan dismissed the shorter man with uncharacteristic rudeness.  
  
Don't worry, Vegeta," he said as he brushed past him. "I'll tell them that they have come to the wrong place."  
  
_I'll apologize later_, Gohan thought as he hurried down the hallway.  
  
* * *  
  
Levi changed channels. The same. He changed channels again and again the same image appeared on the TV-screen.  
  
It was Vegeta, Vegeta as he had never seen him before. A strange blue and white costume hugged his body and he had raised a gloved hand in a gesture that somehow seemed to promise immediate destruction. Most unsettling was the broad leering grin that distorted the fine lines of his face. No trace of mercy or restraint could be detected in his countenance, all it showed was a complete dedication to cruelty.  
  
So different from Vegeta's usual silent reserve.  
  
Years ago, when Levi had been a small boy, Vegeta had been his greatest hero and he had fantasized about travelling through space with him, fighting monsters and exploring strange new worlds. Some part of Levi still looked at his mysterious grandfather in that way.  
  
Apart from the exciting fact that Vegeta came from a different planet, Levi knew next to nothing of his past. It was not that his questions were refused, Levi thought, just that the questions he had never thought to ask as a child, he later learned were far too personal, far too intrusive.  
  
He stared at the sinister image of Vegeta with a vague sense of dread.  
  
At the corner of his mind he registered that the others were involved in a heated argument. The short black-haired woman named Pan paced back and fourth and waved a fist in the air to underline some point she was making. Then his father was talking, and Levi turned around to listen.  
  
"How can we be sure that they will keep their word and wait peacefully for two weeks?" Trunks sounded so calm that Levi stared at him in surprise. He was talking about aliens threatening to destroy the Earth as if it had been a matter of some minor business agreement.  
  
"We should strike first!" Pan spoke forcefully.  
  
"But we can't just attack them," Goten said and frowned.  
  
"Why not!?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, it would be unfair."  
  
"But they-"  
  
"Mother died tonight."  
  
Bra's low-voiced announcement stopped the debate completely.  
  
When Gohan a short while later entered the room they all sat in oppressed silence. He stopped in the doorway and let his eyes wander over the group.  
  
"This problem must be addressed immediately," Gohan said abruptly. "I'm going to the aliens' ship right now to try to reason with them. Hopefully, all this could be solved diplomatically."  
  
The demi-Saiyan paused for a moment, a wistful expression creeping up on his face. "If Dende had still been among us he would have been the perfect person to talk to them. He... he always knew how to bring out the best in people." After all these years Gohan still missed the gentle healer. He had been devastated when the his friend, shortly after the disappearance of the Dragonballs, had informed them that he only had a few months left on this plane. The bond between the young Namek and the magic dragon had been stronger and gone far deeper than any of them had realised.  
  
Trunks cleared his throat. "I'll come with you," he said.  
  
"Me too." Pan was already on her feet.  
  
"Goten?" Gohan glanced inquiringly at his brother.  
  
"I don't think so," Goten shrugged. "Call me if it gets interesting."  
  
"I sure hope it won't come to that", Gohan muttered. He raised his voice. "Lets go!"  
  
"Trunks, wait!" Bra grabbed his arm just as he was leaving. "Aren't you even going to say good-bye to Mom?"  
  
Trunks avoided his sister's demanding stare. "I'll do it later," he said. Gently breaking free of her restraining grip, he hastened to catch up with the others.  
  
Then they were gone. It all happened so fast, it almost left the remaining people blinking in confusion.  
  
* * *  
  
Vegeta sat slumped on the couch, his forehead resting on the heel of his hand. He did not look up or speak to anyone, and after her initial attempts to comfort, even Bra left him alone.  
  
Looking at him, it occurred to Levi that, for the first time, his grandfather showed his years. He looked worn; the still youthful lines of his mouth set in an expression of absolute weariness.  
  
_He misses her a lot.  
_  
Earlier, Levi had followed his aunt to stand for a moment by Bulma's bedside. Bra had attended to Bulma, combed her hair, closed her half-opened mouth and drawn a calming hand down her brow to close her eyes.  
  
He had never seen anyone dead before, but it had not frightened or repelled him as he had thought it would. Bulma had looked like she was resting, like she was enjoying a well-deserved night of sleep. Seeing her had awoken thoughts in the youth that he had never experienced before, musings about life and death, which he had felt did not belong to a child. He decided then and there to make some important changes in his life.  
  
* * *  
  
Bra was furious. She was sitting by her mother's side and she was literally shaking with anger. She was trying to calm down, and outwardly she appeared almost composed, but inside, hot, angry thoughts sizzled through her mind.  
  
How dare they?! How dare those aliens try to take her father away! How dare they come here, carrying ghosts from the past that they had _no right_... And now of all times, Bulma so recently gone...  
  
"Mom," she whispered. "I'm so sorry about this mess. I-"  
  
She abruptly turned to the window. Was there someone out there? She strained her eyes to see if she could detect anything, but all she could see was her own reflection. She turned her attention back to Bulma.  
  
"I though I heard something", she muttered.  
  
At that instant the window exploded with a loud crash, shards spraying all over the room. A rock the size of a fist hurtled through the air, struck the wall, and landed on Bulma's bed, not one decimetre from her pale cheek. Bra stared at the object. It was wet and muddy and it left a dirty stain on the white sheet.  
  
A large jagged piece off glass fell out of the frame and smashed against the windowsill.  
  
"Who the hell did that!?" Bra screamed at the top of her lungs. "Show yourself!"  
  
Only silence answered her.  
  
The door flung open as Goten came running. "What happened? Oh..." He stared at the gaping hole in the window.  
  
Bra picked up the offending stone and made as if to throw it into the dark, but then she just let it thump heavily on top of the glittering shards.  
  
A second ear-shattering crash could be heard from somewhere else in the house.  
  
"What's going on?" Goten's face showed only confusion.  
  
Levi appeared in the door.  
  
"Someone throw a stone through the living room window", he said, almost screaming. His voice broke, and his blue eyes were very wide.  
  
"Well!" Bra practically roared. "Don't just stand there! Goten! Go get rid of whoever is throwing those stones! I'll carry mother upstairs; she can't stay here now. Levi! You wake the girls up and take them upstairs too!" At his blank look she continued, "They are sleeping in the room down the hall." She indicated the direction with her whole hand, jabbing the air repeatedly.  
  
"Um... Goten said. "Do you need any help with Bulma?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous! I might not be able to stop meteorites, but I sure as hell can carry my own mother up some measly stairs. Now get moving!"  
  
"Alright." Goten smiled slightly as he turned to go. He was thinking that Bra sounded exactly like her mother when she was angry.  
  
* * *  
  
The girls were already wide-awake, sitting up in the large bed. Two identical pairs of black eyes blinked up at Levi when he barged into the room.  
  
"Come with me," he said, feeling rather grown-up and responsible for being in charge of the children.  
  
Two identical heads of tousled black hair shook back and forth. "No."  
  
"But... but," he sputtered, "there are bad people outside. We have to get you someplace safe."  
  
"We're not afraid," the older of the girls said, sounding highly affronted by the suggestion.  
  
"We can fight!" The other girl leapt off the bed and launched a succession of kicks and punches into the air.  
  
She looked very cute... and, Levi had to admit, rather dangerous too. He was glad he had not followed his first impulse, which had been to grab them by the collars of their shirts and drag them up the stairs.  
  
"Listen," he began desperately. "Pan... your mother wants you to come with me."  
  
The girls exchanged a considering look before they seemed to reach a silent decision. They followed him out the door, tiny noses in the air.  
  
Bra stood in the hallway, she was carrying her mother in her arms, cradling her like a baby. Bulma was completely wrapped in a large soft blanket. Her head, resting on Bra's shoulder, was the only thing not covered by the blanket.  
  
Levi did a double take when he noticed that Vegeta was also standing there in the hallway.  
  
"Is she asleep?" the younger of the girls whispered.  
  
"No," a dark voice answered. Vegeta did not take his eyes off Bra. "She's dead."  
  
"Aaah." Fascinated, the girls walked closer. As one, they both poked Bulma with an experimental finger.  
  
"Veta. Sada," Bra said mildly. "Would you two go to her bedroom and bring the pillow that's lying on the bed? Then come with me upstairs, we're going to get her nice and comfortable."  
  
"OK!" They both hurried to obey.  
  
Vegeta and Bra exchanged a long look. Without a word Vegeta held out his arms and Bra transferred her burden to his care.  
  
Vegeta held the blanket-covered body lightly, tenderly. For a moment he did not move. Then he bent his head down to nuzzle her temple. He inhaled sharply, and shuddered, once. When he lifted his head, he avoided meeting anyone else's eyes.  
  
Abruptly, Vegeta turned and began walking toward the stairway, the girls trailing at his heels.  
  
"Trunks better be here soon," Bra said, almost to herself. "How long can it take to convince some delusional aliens that this is _not_ a good time to barge in with their pathetic threats and mindless accusations!"  
  
Levi stared after her, as she too turned and walked away.  
  
"What?" he whispered. Everyone was action so... weird. Even his aunt, who he thought he knew, was acting as if the aliens were some temporally problem, easily dealt with. It also astonished him how they all seemed to assume that it was _their _responsibility, without even consulting with anyone else.  
  
Levi shook his head. School had certainly never prepared him for anything like _this_.  
  
He turned around when he heard the front door open.  
  
"We're back!" his father's voice called out. In the same breath he asked, "What happened to the window?"


	7. A sketchy tale

**Chapter seven**

The sketchy tale left the company speechless. Beginnings of incredulous protests trailed off, reflecting broken beliefs.

Pan summed it up. "Let's not get paranoid, but there are enemies all around us."

They were all gathered in the small chamber upstairs. Eleven persons all in all. Vegeta was there too, leaning against a wall. Gohan was sitting down, his chin resting on his hand. Newfound doubts made his thoughts heavy, the scenarios were all too vivid.

Pan's patch-work tale did not make much sense.

"Start at the beginning," Gohan said.

"The ship wasn't very impressive, just big and gray, and smooth all over." She absently ran her fingers through the hair of her children, one on each side of her. "A door opened to let us in. We met their captain, but we didn't get to talk for very long, because _someone_," she gave Gohan a pointed stare, "practically dragged us away."

"We learned something important, we needed time to think and _someone_," he stared right back, "was at the edge of doing something quite rash."

Her eyes glittered. "I'm sure a little demonstration of what they're up against would have made them think twice about the price they were willing to pay to 'fulfill their mission'."

"Right," Gohan sighed. _That's what I thought too. But things are not that simple anymore. Perhaps they never were. No matter how powerful, how could we defend ourselves from an attack we can't predict? How do we intercept a stone thrown from out of the darkness?_

Which reminded him, "Goten, who did throw those stones?"

"No one important." Goten drew a hand trough his hair and smiled, almost bashfully. He glanced nervously at the silent figure of Vegeta, but looked away when he was not acknowledged. "It was just a couple of guys who said they recognized Mr. Vegeta from the picture the aliens had sent. I think they worked for the CC."

"Not much to worry about, perhaps, if it was only those two."

Shattered illusions... or a glimpse of a map, a million stars like a frozen whirlwind of dust, spanning a majestic tranquillity. A pale hand pointing out this and this and this too, belong to The Galaxy. _Do not think we will just go away, when we are all around you._

"So what did you do to them?" Gohan asked, breaking out of his reverie.

A mischievous tone entered Goten's voice. "I just... re-located them. They are standing in a small jungle village right now, probably wondering what happened."

"And do you think that's the end of it?"

Goten paused to think, staring into the air with a considering look on his face. "No," he said slowly. "If they know, others might too. Or they might tell someone. I suppose every government on Earth would be searching for..." A discreet nod at Vegeta, once again left unacknowledged. Tension-filled glances crossed the room.

The alien captain had hinted... no, he had told them outright, that this ship only was one of many. To defeat it would only send for more. And the next time there might be no warning, no respite.

Bra stood near the adjoining room where her mother rested on the narrow bed. Her stance was almost protective. A window had shattered with a kind of salacious ease. She remembered the rain of shards, the stain of mud left by the stone, but she called her anger useless. All Bulma needed now was a peaceful grave, perhaps next to an old tree, with long branches and leaves that would let the sun glimpse forth in brilliant flashes. Some flowers on the grave. A headstone, nothing fancy. A few words summing up the loss by those left behind: Mother. Wife.

Wouldn't it have been horrible if that silly stone had landed slightly different, if it had bruised her skin, if the stain on the sheets had been the color red? _One would have thought we were safe. One would have thought that we should have been safer than anyone else._

Gohan thought about how the Earth looked from a distance. He had seen it as such, a blue orb, every detail so tiny, yet distinct, and you knew that if you got closer, more and more details would appear, till you imagined you could see every mountain and every tree. As more and more details appeared you realized the world was endless.

From space, however, the edges were definite. You could imagine reaching out to pluck the blue planet like some kind of cosmic apple.

_We will be forced to eliminate him together with the planet he is presently residing._

_He_ was standing unmoving against the wall, his eyes focused on the floor, somehow avoiding any ones attention, except for a few short glances in his direction. It was as if he was overlooked, or in some strange way unnoticed. Bra had come closest, when she earlier had reached out her arms for him, wanting to share their mutual grief. "Not now, brat," he had muttered. It had been the unlikely alarm in the way he had recoiled from her, rather than his words, that had persuaded her to keep her distance.

Now Vegeta slowly raised his eyes and pushed himself away from the wall. Suddenly present, suddenly impossible to ignore. Gohan felt like he had overlooked something vital.

_It's me they want._

They stared at him as if waiting for instructions, as if he could provide a solution to the whole situation. Instead, though, Vegeta seemed to gradually fall apart before their eyes. Tiny cracks appeared in his stony face, a twinge of pain quickly pulled at the corners of his mouth. For a second his features scrunched together, looking for all the world like he was on the verge of bursting into tears.

Then it was all wiped away, his face impassive once again. One could almost have thought it had all been an illusion.

"I would like to be alone with her."

It was a long moment of silence, in which nobody moved. Then Trunks hastily stood up and, together with his wife, left the room. Slowly the others followed, leaving him alone.

Something made Gohan stop in the doorway to study Vegeta as he stood there in the middle of the room, abandoned by his own request.

"You're planning something, aren't you?"

Vegeta turned to face him, the smallest smile flitted over his countenance, leaving a strange sense of calmness behind.

"I trust you will stay here... boy? To protect this ball of mud and all that."

"Of course," Gohan said, a brittle realization slowly dawning. "I will protect the Earth with everything I have."

He looked at the shorter man with considerable respect. _He has to know, as well as I do, that there is only one way to make them leave the Earth alone. And that is if he was to go with them._

Gohan dared not ask again, but a sense of hopeful, shameful gratitude surged through him. _I'm a rational man, but still I keep hoping for easy help from angels_. He shook his head at this own straying thoughts. He wanted to say something to Vegeta, something that would ease his burden, but found that he could only share some of his own.

"It's something I haven't told the others yet, but when we were leaving the ship I stayed behind for a moment and asked the captain how they could be so certain that they would find you here."

He paused and Vegeta looked at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

Gohan could not get over Vegeta's apparent serenity. In the absence of angels, he was the most unlikely substitute. Still...

"He said that they had been told that you were here... from one of the last survivors of New Namek." Yes, and telling him did not make it any different. "Apparently, they had heard of the Dragonballs and decided that New Namek constituted a threat to their 'Galaxy'. He said... that magic does not exist anymore. 'It's the end of magic', that's what he said."

Was he expecting some sort of reassurance? He got none.

"That sounds about right." The expression on Vegeta's face was unreadable, but his words had a ring of resignation.

_Don't you want to fight this, Vegeta? Don't you want to fight?_

They exchanged a long look. Gohan took a breath to say something like 'don't do this', but the image of the fragile blue planet held him back.

"I'll leave you alone with her." There was no answer.

He closed the door on his protesting conscience. The answer was right there, after all. _Only one way to make them leave..._

_¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨_

Vegeta relaxed slightly when he was finally left alone. He walked to the room where Bulma lay. He did not look at her, his eyes went to the large rectangle of the window, all filled with a golden mist, mildly illuminating the room, making the edges of the shadows blur.

He was somewhat touched, that Gohan would trust him to this extent. He had recognized the silent agreement that had passed between them. It was up to him now to deal with this threat to the Earth.

"Of course, what the boy doesn't know is that I am probably the greatest threat right now."

He felt a small dizziness as he turned his focus inward, a feeling like he was staring down an abyss. Watching the fortifications crumble... It held its fascination.

"You know," he said in a low voice, talking to Bulma, the living Bulma in his memories. "I have dealt with this, somewhat successfully, for a long time. Don't think I have forgotten my promise to you," his next words were a whisper, "but I'm not sure you will be proud of me, when this is over."

He fell silent then, with a start. Talking to memories... when Bulma's listening corpse lay on the small bed not two metres away from him. He made himself look at her, but he did not say anything. He refused to feed her with words, to further acknowledge this body with any kind of sentiments. He had carried her in his arms up the stairs, and that had felt too real, too much like life.

This was not really her after all, it was just a corpse he was leaving behind. He knew that, and still he was drawn to the bed. He leaned down to her well-known face, seized by the maddest impulse. Why the need to say good-bye when he could bring something of her with him? Her hair perhaps, he could twine it between his fingers, a thousand soft strands. _Rip them out!_ The image of it, in all of its simplicity, repelled him, and his reaching hand faltered in its purpose. He lightly stroked one white lock of hair, then his fingers closed instead around the pillow beneath. Her head bounced heavily against the mattress as he pulled it out.

Turning his back to her, he brought the pillow to his face and inhaled. Yes, this was the scent of Bulma still living in his memories; it made her clear, manifest, while her frozen features only spoke of finality and distance.

He walked to the window and pulled it open, one hand holding the white pillow against his chest, as if cherishing its warmth.

"I'm going now," he murmured to no one in particular.


	8. East City

**Chapter eight**

Vegeta tried to remember the last time he had been outside the large Capsule complex. How long since he had felt the dampness of clouds against his face? How long since he had seen the land rush beneath him, stretching in all directions? Not since Bulma had fallen ill, that was for sure.

He found himself stalling. He could have reached the ship faster, but then he would not have been able to feel that the air was slightly warm. If he had hurried he would not have seen the thousands of white birds lifting from a lake and shattering, like an embodiment of the wind.

It would have been wrong to say that any of these things made him happy, but he did enjoy the feeling of effortlessly shooting through the sky. He liked the sense of direction, the freedom of being nowhere, of being in between. Bulma's devastating absence was just as true as before, but just for a moment, the pain seemed to have transformed into an incalculable exhilaration. He felt... reckless.

All too soon, he was there. He stopped, standing still in the air. He glanced down at the expansive view of East City. The white buildings threw sharp shadows in the morning sun. He then lifted his eyes to look at the ship that had come for him.

_Destroy it!_

Vegeta almost flinched as the overwhelming impulse welled up in him. A frantic battle for control was the only thing that kept him from letting the act follow the thought. He firmly pushed the anger down and even managed to hold on to his previous sense of exhilaration. Time was running short, however.

In an instant Vegeta was hovering by the entrance of the ship. He had no trouble recognising it as such, since, ironically, the word 'entrance' was printed in large red letters across the portal. The writing confirmed something he already knew. These people spoke the same language that he had grown up with, the language that still dominated some of his dreams: the language of Frieza.

Vegeta stared at the writing for a moment, imagining the terror that must be spreading through the ship as they detected him on their sensors. He thought about the whole situation, looked at it as if it was a picture hung on a wall. He observed himself, by the entrance of the ship, with a fluffy pillow under his arm and his inner walls in shambles. He found the image funny, in an abstract kind of way. To complete the picture he leaned forward and lightly knocked on the door.

He had to wait several dangerous moments, before the door, with a soft whooshing sound, finally opened. By then he had almost lost his grip on the mood, but now he marched down the reviled corridor, a smirk firmly held in place.

The corridor ended in a large round room where several uniform-clad men were waiting for him. He stopped and looked at them. No one said anything and the air was heavy with fear. Finally one of the frozen figures took a few tremulous steps towards him.

"I am c-captain Asdef," he stuttered. Then he fell silent again, searching for words.

"I am Vegeta."

Judging by their reactions he might as well have declared their death sentences. A brief sound that might have been a whimper came from one of the soldiers. Some of them unobtrusively backed away, all but pressing their backs against the wall to get as far away from him as possible.

The captain opened and closed his mouth several times. When the words came, though, his voice was unexpectedly calm and authoritative.

"Vegeta, for the safety of the galaxy, we have come for you. Willingly or unwillingly, you shall be subjected to The Law."

The solemn phrases held a ring of ritual. When they were spoken, the captain fell silent again, waiting for Vegeta's reaction. Large beads of sweat was trailing down his face and dripping from his chin.

The sight – the _smell_ - of all this fear was not helping. Vegeta felt his rage respond, almost in intuitive reaction. The brittle amusement disappeared altogether. Against his will, a ferocious snarl touched his face.

"Unwillingly?" His voice was low and deeply threatening. "And how exactly had you imagined that you could force me into _anything_?"

"We didn't think we could," captain Asdef said hurriedly. "We... we came here expecting to die."

"Really?" Another time, this would have made him laugh. As it was, the statement calmed him down, it helped him to control his features once again. "Why didn't you just destroy the whole planet, like you threatened to do?"

"The Law says that as long as any other option is possible... We had to at least try."

Vegeta nodded, and for the first time he felt a trace of respect for the sweating man in front of him.

"You had still meant to capture... to hold me somehow?" Vegeta was looking straight into the captain's eyes. This was what he had wanted to know. "You have some... device to subdue be?" The hissing language of Frieza ran without difficulty from his lips. It was as if he had never stopped speaking it.

"Not... as such."

"I think you are lying. Why all this talk about making me come with you? Why not just try to kill me outright?"

"It is The Law. Your crimes are public, so you will face a public punishment. If possible." As before, Asdef became strangely calm when he mentioned 'The Law'.

"You still haven't answered my question."

Vegeta deliberately let a menacing tone enter his voice once again. He remembered something he had heard once. _If you want the truth, first make them fear you..._ He looked at the captain, who had now started to shiver.

..._Then give them hope._

"I might not kill you."

That was not even slightly subtle, but Vegeta had decided not to waste any more time. The raging beast was as good as free; he was openly wrestling with it in his mind.

Some of the strain he felt could be heard as he continued, "Just tell me the truth, the whole truth, and you shall live. The question was: Do you possess any method that would render me powerless?"

"Yes."

Vegeta slowly let his breath out. "Show me."

Asdef waved forth one of the soldiers, a tall, burly man with bright red hair. The red-haired man walked up to them and, carefully avoiding looking at Vegeta, he offered the captain something that looked like a band of metal. Asdef let it dangle in his grip, hesitating, before he turned to Vegeta.

"Let's sit down, shall we?"

They sat down by a small table, facing each other. The captain carefully laid the metal band down on top of the table. It was of a dull silver colour, not very long, and about two fingers in breadth.

"Well," Asdef started. "As I understand it, all living beings have a... kind of energy, called ki, in their bodies. The energy floats between a number of power nodes, connecting them like a net."

The captain sounded like he was giving a lecture, but then he met Vegeta's dark stare across the table and his voice trailed off.

"B-but of course, you already know that." He cleared his throat. "There are still some people around who have the ability to use this force as a weapon... no one on this ship, though. It is not one of _those_ ships." The last was said with a certain amount of distaste.

"No," Vegeta said impatiently. "This is just a ship they send, expecting everyone in it to die. Now get to the point."

"Yes, as I was going to say, our scientists have developed a substance that disrupts the balance of this power, this ki." Asdef drew one hand across his brow and it came down wet with sweat. "The substance needs to be injected directly into the subject's body, it's purely physical. Look."

He rubbed his hand briefly on the trouser leg before picking up the slim metal band. Holding it in both hands, he bent it, proving it to be quite flexible. Fitting one end inside the other, apparently hollow, he formed a circle, perfectly smooth, about one decimetre across. He turned to the large, red-haired man again.

"Activate," the captain said shortly, carefully holding the object between his fingertips, not touching the inside of the circle.

A muted mechanical sound could be heard as several fine needles appeared around the inside. They were small, no more then half a centimetre, but they seemed extremely sharp. The captain pulled on the band, demonstrating that he now was unable to open it.

"Let me guess," Vegeta said dryly. "This goes around the neck of the subject."

"Yes." Asdef muttered, not meeting Vegeta's eyes. "The needles provide a constant dosage of the substance, that is called Avadrug, by the way."

Vegeta reached out and took the slim circle in his hands. Nine needles, he counted.

"The whole truth," he reminded the captain, who at those words became remarkably calm. Like he had reached the point of no return.

"Avadrug is a poison. It disrupts the balance of the whole body; it affects the brain and might even cause damage on the cellular structure. Ultimately it will result in death."

"Figures." He glanced at Asdef, who shifted in his seat. "And the dosage is... set accordingly?"

"Yes. It's very high."

He motioned to the same red-haired soldier who did something on his control board, causing the tiny needles to subtract. Vegeta felt the object became lax in his hand, he pulled the ends apart and laid it back on the table. Thinking about what he was about to say, the smirk returned to his countenance.

"I suggest-", Vegeta started, but he was interrupted by a loud shout from one of the soldiers.

"Captain!" The soldier looked up from a screen. His rather youthful face was wearing an alarmed expression. "I detect some activity in the human city below. It appears like they are preparing a missile attack!"

"Lethal?" the captain asked sharply.

"Massive nuclear."

"Make ready to intercept!"

"But, sir!" The young soldier protested nervously. "We don't have the time to reset our weapons. They are still set for planetary scale."

"Never mind that!" the red-haired man scouted across the room. "Firing at us is still treason against The Galaxy!"

Vegeta had heard enough. His decision was faster then a heartbeat and without waiting for doubts or second thoughts, he was moving. Rushing down the corridor, he left through the portal, which might have been open or closed, he cared not, as long as he was outside, looking down on the city below.

The large city looked still and empty, much like most cities did at such a distance. But he did not think about that now.

He had gathered energy in his right hand, curling his fingers around a solid globe of power.

A gust of wind tugged at his shirt and he briefly closed his eyes. He grabbed his right wrist as if for support, although his hand did not tremble. His hand was rock steady.

As he let go of the power he found himself smiling.

It hurt. He had not bothered to adapt his body to this amount of energy, so he scorched his hand and something tore in his shoulder. Something tore in his heart too. And still he was smiling, smiling at whatever, at the irony perhaps. For, all in all, it felt kind of good, this great ejaculation of power.

He did not wait for the dust to settle. He knew what he would see, he had seen it countless times before. He turned his back before the destruction came into view and entered the ship once again.

Ignoring all the stares following his every movement, Vegeta walked up to the small table and stopped behind the chair he had recently occupied. As he started to reach for the metal band, he noticed without surprise that he was still carrying Bulma's pillow, tightly holding it under his left arm. Putting it down on the table, he used both hands to bend the slim metal around his neck. He fitted it together and pulled it tight. The silence was absolute.

"Well," he said, feeling the snug metal move coldly against his throat as he talked. "What are you waiting for? Activate!"


	9. Looking back

Chapter nine  
  
It was like nothing Bra had ever seen before. Where East City once had been there was only a reach of scarred land, a shallow crater so wide that the other side touched the horizon. All she could do was stare, the beating of her heart loud in her ears. The wind blew unhindered across the bare land. In the air she could smell sand and dust and fire and burning.  
  
Though she was aware of Gohan standing by her side and Goten, Pan and her brother not far away, she felt completely alone. It was as if the emptiness in front of her filled her up - the same emptiness, the same dust and the same burning.  
  
She had lived in East City on and off for many years, and she had several friends there. She had her favourite restaurants and her favourite place in the park.  
  
The city had been evacuated, she remembered with an almost sickeningly strong wave of relief. People had still been killed, though. She thought of the military tanks she had seen on the TV-screen.  
  
"I can't believe father did this," she whispered.  
  
Yet there was no doubt. They had all felt it when Vegeta had let go of the power, known it when the power had reverberated through the ground. To Bra it had felt like a sudden pressure in her chest. An ache. Standing there before the overwhelming sight, she felt the ache take a deeper hold.  
  
"Why would he do this?"  
  
In a sense, she did not really care why. Not right now. A treacherous voice whispered in her mind: Would he still have done it if the count of people had been millions?  
  
She would have said it was impossible, that her father least of all had wanted something like that to happen. She would have said, "I know this, not only because I love him, but because I _know_ him."  
  
~~~  
  
Oh, love was a big part of it. When she was a little girl she loved her father with a kind of unconditional adoration. Whenever she could she hung on his hand and climbed into his lap, wanting to tell him everything on her mind, everything of her. All the hurtful times that he walked away from her, those were instantly forgiven the next time she saw him. "Daddy," she would scream out and run to him. In her eyes he could do nothing wrong.  
  
When she became older, things became less easy. She started to compare him to the fathers of her classmates, perhaps, and she noticed that he was not like them. He did not have a job, was not interested in her homework, never wanted to play a game of cards. He kept his words to a bare minimum, never laughed or joked and hardly ever smiled.  
  
She became aware of a tension, of thousands of things left unsaid. Or perhaps that had only been her, ashamed of her thoughts, of her doubts, of the new distance she felt.  
  
Once she came home from school just in time to see Vegeta come out from the Gravity Room. He seemed totally exhausted, almost leaning against the wall to keep himself upright. Large patches of his clothes seemed _burned_ away and with vague shock, she thought that... yes, he was bleeding. Small red trails ran down the side of his face. His ear seemed covered in blood and he raised his hand to wipe at it with a gesture of indifference. Slowly, his head down, he started to walk in the direction of the showers. He did not see her, or if he did he did not let her know.  
  
She had got so used to her father's training that she had never really asked herself why. Why was it so important to him? Why hour upon hour with punishing his body under gravity hundreds of times that of Earth's. She knew he was fighting, dealing out strikes and lunges that were lethal to any enemies. But there were no enemies. He was alone, going through the old movements again and again.  
  
Sometimes he could lock himself away for days at a time. Only seldom would he come out to eat and then he rarely talked to anyone. Bra smiled at him and was ignored, or he might look up and say something that just did not make any sense, something that had nothing to do with her. Bulma always amazed her with her patience at those times. Her mother, she had just... been there. Not too close, not insisting upon anything, just there.  
  
Sometimes Bra thought she could get a glimpse of her parents' contentment in each other. Looking at them, Bra would think that they understood each other: that they shared something that went beyond words. She would never doubt the reality behind this notion. It made sense to her, and it made her feel safe.  
  
In her early teens Bra's attitude to her father changed to a kind of impatient attention. She sat him down to listen to her music, joined him when he was alone in the kitchen or the garden and nagged him to drive her to places and to come shopping with her.  
  
She had taken to ask questions about his past, not really interested at the time, but well aware how much it provoked him. She hated indifference, and perhaps this was an attempt to hold on to the feelings of her childhood, even as she could feel them slipping through her fingers. But her efforts had done little to change him in the way she wanted. Her attempts became aggressive from the start, expecting rejection, letting every little bit of disappointment hurt her.  
  
One day she lashed out at him, without any particular provocation, just feeling the need to. She roused from the dining room table and pushed her chair back so hard that it fell on the floor and broke, screaming things she did not know she had thought or felt.  
  
"You don't care, you don't care about _anything_. You just walk around like some kind of ice-statue! What's with this self-centered act, why can't you just get over yourself? I _hate_ you!" Her voice became low and venomous, as hissed the last words. "You're such a fake, _Daddy_."  
  
He did not answer. He just looked at her, absorbing her anger and spite as he had used to absorb her gushing affection. Taking it all in.  
  
She fell silent then, feeling like she had done something inexcusable. Why wouldn't he argue back! But no, he just stared at her, seemingly accepting her every word. In a way, it was like kicking someone that was already down.  
  
Still, she was angry and her anger stayed with her as she left home for the university. She called her mother several times a week, and they had long conversations about anything, lightly and effortlessly understanding each other. Vegeta she seldom spoke to. They did not have a lot in common after all and besides, she thought, she was an adult now. Growing up meant that she could leave whatever confrontations with her father behind and just get on with her life. It was a kind of relief, she told herself.  
  
Years later, though, she found out that she still had some growing up to do. After a series of disappointments she came home in a sort of deliberate journey of self-discovery. Wanting to make sense of it all, perhaps - she did not know, she just felt like there was something missing.  
  
It was good to be home again and she discovered that the tension and the hurt did not have to be there after all. She visited her parents regularly after that. She learned to talk to her father without putting any unspoken pressure behind her words, to be completely open and to let go of any expectations. In time she managed to find a plateau of peace. Even if it meant that she had to keep a certain distance, it did result in moments of stillness when she felt completely content and accepted.  
  
Strange, that she had taken to treating her father as if he needed such casual gentleness. Well, she told herself, perhaps he did. When they were alone, or when she saw him together with Bulma, she got to see sides of him that she had never seen before. She saw a... unassuming kindness, a honest will not to cause any harm.  
  
And she loved him all over again.  
  
~~~  
  
Bra could hear someone behind her and she turned around, feeling like her thoughts were slowly waking up. Trunks, Goten and Pan walked towards her, rising small clouds of dust with every step.  
  
"Why would father do this?" Trunks said, echoing her former question.  
  
The five people looked at each other, but no one had an answer. There was a prolonged silence and then Bra heard Gohan sigh by her side.  
  
"At least they are gone now," he said, as if that was all that mattered.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"The aliens. They are gone and so is the immediate threat against the Earth. The only cost was one city that was as good as empty. I suppose it will be rebuilt again."  
  
There were so much wrong in all that that Bra did not knew where to start, but then she noticed that his voice was distant and his eyes were wide and shocked.  
  
"Listen," Pan said. "You said something earlier about Vegeta surrendering to this galactic police or whoever they are?"  
  
"Yes," Gohan said, drawing a hand through his hair. "He didn't say that exactly, but I believe it was implied. If you think about it, it was the best way to handle the situation. Starting a battle might have been disastrous, considering the risks."  
  
"How can you say that!" Bra was close to tears and she did not know if it was from anger or sorrow. "What about my dad!"  
  
"I don't think he's in a terrible amount of danger," Gohan said uncertainly. "Let's not forget who he is."  
  
"Don't patronize me!" Bra said heatedly. "He's in the hands of fanatical people that are determined to see him dead. They hate him, they think he has committed all these terrible crimes and, and..." Her voice trailed off.  
  
"Bra," Gohan spoke gently, hesitatingly. "Your father did a great thing, a noble sacrifice, when he choose to give himself up. But..."  
  
"Oh, I have heard some of the stories," she almost spat out. "I know his youth was... very violent, but that was before, before he came to live on Earth. He's nothing like that anymore!"  
  
All Gohan did was to raise his eyes to take in the sight around them. He did not say anything.  
  
"Wha-" Bra stared at him.  
  
"It's kind if ironic," Gohan finally said in a low voice, "that he would leave the planet the same way he had came."  
  
"Wha-" Bra breathed again. She turned her gaze to Pan, and then looked incredulously at Trunks. "You're not listening to that, are you?"  
  
No one seemed quite willing to meet her eyes. There was a long moment of silence before Bra found anything to say.  
  
"I used to believe in a lot of things that turned out to be a lie." She took a deep shuddering breath and her voice become loud and insisting. "But if it's one thing I know, one thing that I'm absolutely certain of, it is that my father would never willingly hurt _anyone_!"  
  
Her words were taken up by the emptiness around them, without even leaving an echo.


	10. Feeding the beast

**Chapter ten  
**  
Vegeta groggily raised his head. He opened his eyes, and then closed them tightly as if they pained him, before opening them again. He was half lying, half sitting against a cold wall. With a sour twist of his mouth he looked down at himself.

There was blood on his hands. He turned them around and observed that they were practically covered with the sticky thick bronze. He touched the front of his shirt, which was stiff with the same substance. Trailing his fingers further, he lifted his hands to his neck to almost delicately touch the silver collar.

The thing was definitely working. He did not try to focus his ki, he knew that it would not be possible. He could feel the fragmented remains of his energy whirling in a lurching imbalance. He felt unfocused, like there was some edge or sharpness that was missing.

He felt sick.

When he thought about what had happened since he had put the collar on, his mind recoiled from the memories with a vague sense of strangeness. The images were mute and expressionless, like they belonged to someone else.

Vegeta got to his feet, staggering slightly. His body was not quick to obey, he noticed without surprise. Already... already the drug, whatever was in it, had reduced him to this. He barely had strength enough to stay upright.

The feeling should have been rage. He thought distantly that he should be fighting and protesting. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to go? But when the metal band had been presented to him, he had seen an answer, an opportunity, and he had taken it. It was not giving up - it was giving in. It was an acknowledgement to the fact that the road had at last come to a full circle.

He was standing in small bare room. It was dimly lit, but without any visible source of light. Three of the walls were of a black uneven material that resembled stone, while the fourth appeared to be made of glass. The shadowed space on the other side of the transparent wall mirrored his room almost exactly, except the other room had a door. There were no doors in Vegeta's room. He was a prisoner.

Again, he thought, the feelings should have been bitterness and anger. There should have been a dejecting sense of defeat. A smile that had nothing to do with mirth tugged at his lips when the thought came to him, that in a sense the collar was a symbol of victory. He had won. _Bulma, I have kept my promise to you._

Thinking about her was like tapping into a bottomless well of loss. Yet he did not want to avoid her, he wanted to hold on to her, wanted it so badly, even if it meant that he risked diving headlong into the loss.

He had not really thought that her death would affect him this much. Not so absolutely, so thoroughly. He had told himself it was nothing he could change. She had gotten old and then she had died. But perhaps such rationality did not matter in this. Perhaps all that mattered was that she had been alive, so gloriously alive, and now she was gone. Why should it be less devastating for the inevitability of it all?

She had been so clear as she went. At the end he had felt her closer than ever; her goodness, her strength. It was amazing.

---

Vegeta did not know how long he stood there in the middle of the room, unaware of his surroundings. What brought him back was the memory that his hands were still cowered in half dried blood.

Looking around the room, he noticed a faucet-like object protruding from the wall in the corner behind him. It was about as high as his waist and as he walked closer he saw that there was a small button on the wall beside it. As he expected, water rushed forth from the tap when he touched the button. It ran to the floor and disappeared down a fairly large hole. A second press on the button made the water stop.

Absently steadying himself with one hand on the wall, Vegeta leaned down to look at the hole in the floor. It was circular, about as large as his hand and it seemed so deep that it might as well have been bottomless. A contemplative look suddenly crossed his face and he gave the bare surfaces of the room a meaningful stare. For some reason the situation struck him as slightly funny. _I have been pampered, haven't I? At least in Capsule Corporation... I did not have to squat._ The amusement was fast to disappear, since he lacked any will to hold on to it.

He washed his hands, thoroughly. He then took off his shirt and rinsed it off several times under the running water. While doing this, he tried to form in his mind some sort of explanation; a good one. He imagined Bulma stood there behind him, just out of sight, waiting for him to speak.

Most situations, he decided, could be reduced to the barest of facts, like "he did it" or "she's dead". A simple fact could explain it all. But, he thought as he twisted his black shirt to get rid of some of the excess water, what was fact, really, other than a seemingly solid construction of someone's perceptions?

Ignoring the coldness of the damp fabric, he put the shirt on again and sat down next to a wall, his legs outstretched, one ankle crossing the other. In a gesture that was more comforting than casual, he wrapped his arms around his midsection.

Fact: a raging beast was living in his mind. This beast wanted nothing else but to live out its hate, to rip and tear and to mangle.

Right. Very likely. And the beast had broken teeth, dull staring eyes and its pelt was clotted with blood. Right.

Vegeta closed his eyes and conjured up the image. When had the fantasy become so powerful anyway? So bloody real.

In his mind he walked up to the growling beast and roughly grabbed its ear. "Look at this," he said, turning to Bulma who sat on the living room sofa. Her short skirt reviled her smooth thighs and her striking sky-blue hair ran over her shoulders, light as clouds and supple as oil. Vegeta wrenched the beast's head in her direction and she stared speechlessly into its mute eyes while slimy drool dripped on the 20 000 zenni carpet.

Veteta shifted his head against the uneven surface of the wall. This was going nowhere. This was not himself and this was definitely not Bulma.

This was just hiding.

For a moment he did nothing, he just breathed. Then he started talking. He did not speak out loud, his voice was no more than a whisper of a breath, but he formed each word carefully in his mind. "Of course I know that it's just me. No bloodthirsty animal. Just me. You would never accept that would you? You thought you knew every part of me... but I never showed you this one."

As he talked he could almost feel her listening. He saw nothing but the inside of his own eyelids, but he could feel her warmth and sympathy. He continued to address her, the whole time afraid that the comforting illusion would suddenly fade.

"There is an ugliness in me that I would never let you see. Perhaps I was ashamed and perhaps I was afraid. I know you cared about me, this… love… that you used to talk about, though it did take a long time for me to believe in it. Well, this is a part of me that you would not love."

He paused, unwillingly waiting for her to protest, like she always did when he had said something like that. The silence was nothing that he had not expected and still it was utterly shattering. An all-consuming sense of loss rolled over him, a flood of feeling that was almost tangible. It was as if an arm or a leg had been torn off and his body was bleeding and screaming in shocked deprivation, but instead it was his soul, his soul bleeding and screaming. He tried to take a step back… distance himself. But it was no use. So he addressed it, he spoke directly into the loss.

"I understand now," he said, the words coming fast, "that I used you to bind it. I used you or whatever you gave me to bind this beast. Through you I did it. And when you died... when you died..."

She was dead, that was the reality of it.

With a tremendous effort of will, he disentangled himself from the suffocating loss, before it completely pulled him under.

"The wreath, the beast..." he slowly resumed, quelling the insisting thoughts that said that he was abandoning her, that he had an obligation to the pain. It would be there waiting for him after all.

"There was a time when I thought this... rage was a useful tool to call upon during the battles, the killings." He sighed suddenly and deliberately raised his head from the wall just to swing it back again. Hard. "And now I'm hiding again. The truth is, I could never resist it and neither did I want to. It came over me sometimes when I was fighting, this rage. Not always, but sometimes. Those were the best of times. At those moments I felt... like a god, righteous and mighty."

Vegeta shrugged uncomfortably, he did not like thinking about it. Most of all he did not like the undeniable exhilaration that accompanied the half buried memories.

"In the beginning," he continued, "it was just a feeling, I did not really think about it. But the rage grew stronger, more solid. You see, all the time... I was feeding it."

Without any conscious decision, he was on his feet, pacing the small room. He turned abruptly as he reached one black wall, and then another, not really seeing it.

"Every time I had to _beg_ for mercy, I was feeding the rage. Every time I had to kneel in front of... of _Frieza_. I should have fought him. I should have given my life defying him. Instead, because of my _fear_ and my pitiful _weakness_, I bent my neck and forced words of fidelity and smiles of gratitude... just like all the other cowards."

He stopped pacing and drew his hands over his eyes and cheekbones. He had been cold, but now he felt like he was burning. "You want to know what I believe? I believe that I created the idea of the beast, its shape so to speak. It was a boy's fantasy, a lonely boy with a lot of hate and a lot of anger and no one but himself to direct it at."

Vegeta fell silent, all to conscious that no one was listening. He could not feel a whisper of Bulma's sympathetic warmth. He kept addressing her though, hoping against hope that some part of her would still stay with him.

"I kept telling myself that one day I would get strong enough to stand up to Frieza and defeat him, but at the same time I knew that that would demand a miracle. It came to a point when I just didn't care. My failure... I did not care, because I had fed my caring to the rage. The only thing that still mattered was to get stronger... and there were times then I didn't knew who craved the strength: me, or the beast."

He fell silent again, his eyes restlessly shifting between the confining corners of his room. He could feel that the ship was moving. Although he did not hear any engines or felt any movement penetrating the floor, he knew that they were hurtling through space at a very high speed.

He went back to the wall and sat down, in the same position as before. He felt cold again.

"When we first met, there wasn't much left of me, was there?" He wanted to say something more, something that would let her know just how much she had meant to him, but he could not.

For some things, Vegeta assumed, there just were no words.

---

The young man flouted naked in a tube of fluid. Small bubbles of air escaped the tight mask on his face and disappeared out of sight. The deep wounds across his chest and on his throat were clearly visible. It was hard to believe that he was still alive with wounds like that, let alone that he was expected a full recovery.

Captain Asdef laid his hand on the glass. It felt cold to the touch, although he knew that the marvelous healing fluid inside the tank was in fact warm. Like the advanced communication device on the ship, the regeneration tank was just another reminder of Frieza's legacy.

The captain looked away from the soldier's pale face so that he, for the hundredth time that day, could glance at the screen high up on the wall. For a fraction of a second he was sure that the small room displayed on the screen was empty, and his heart seemed to pause in his chest. But there he was. The prisoner. Vegeta.

Asdef had to assure himself over and over that it was true. Vegeta, one of Frieza's most terrible assassins, were sitting there on the bare floor, helpless and powerless.

For the life of him, he could not explain exactly how this had happened.

When the short man, who's mere presence had inspired such horror and awe, had asked if they possessed the means to render him powerless, Asdef had dared to hope. And then the Earthlings had decided to make their move. The captain supposed that he could not blame them, not after he had threatened to destroy their planet. Their timing could have been better though.

When the report of the attack from the ground came in, Asdef had seen how the face of the man opposite him had harden into an expressionless mask. This is the end, he had thought.

After that, everything had happened so fast. They hardly had time to realize that Vegeta had gone outside before the entire city beneath them had been wiped out. Vanished just like that. Asdef distantly registered his own astonishment over the sheer arrogance of the act. So Frieza's warrior had not thought that they could handle it on they're own, had he? In one spectacular move he had sought to remove the problem altogether, as if to show them that they were completely incompetent.

Arrogant as it was, Asdef mused as he once again turned to look at the young man in the tank, Vegeta's move had still confirmed that the Earth mattered to him. According to all information, the end of Frieza had meant the end of Vegeta's killings. The reports from New Namek had all agreed that, astonishingly, Vegeta had lived in peace for decades now. He cared for his adopted planet and would go to great length to protect it.

Of course, nothing of that mattered before the Law. Nothing changed his past, or the fact that his strength, un-harnessed, constituted a great threat to the peace of the galaxy. Under no circumstances could they risk the rise of a new Frieza.

"And just as I thought I had him figured out," Asdef whispered, "he only showed me how wrong I was." Vegeta had entered the ship again and, without looking at anyone, he had walked to the table where the metal collar rested. With short measured movements, he had put it on. He had told them to activate it. Asdef had issued the order at once, thinking to himself that he had been wrong. The attack from Earth had changed nothing; Vegeta had just brushed it aside like an annoying insect and continued on his original intent. The risks had been colossal, but in the end the plan to use the Earth as a gambling pawn had worked.

When the collar had been activated, Vegeta had not moved at first, or done anything to indicate that he felt anything different. Then he had slowly sunk down on a chair, letting his breath out in a long sigh. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Asdef had time to think that he looked like someone that had been freed from a tremendous burden and was finally allowed to relax.

The captain still was not sure what had prompted the youngest of his soldiers to do what he did then. Perhaps he had had some part of his training in mind, something about unarming a prisoner. Whatever the reason, the young man had taken a few quick steps forward and, practically leaning over Vegeta, he had grabbed the white pillow that had been lying on the table, looking very much out of place.

What happened next, the captain thought, must have been instantaneous, and yet the details were all so vivid that it all seemed slow and almost leisurely.

Vegeta was on his feet. With one hand he had grabbed the throat of the young soldier, his fingers sinking deeply into the flesh. As he swung his captive down on the floor, the captain had caught a glimpse of Vegeta's face, eyes wide and teeth reviled in a silent snarl. At first Asdef had thought that it had just been the jacket, but Vegeta's hand clawing at the brown-clad chest had left a wide red tear and a splatter of blood hit the floor like a glass of water that had been forcefully overturned. The next time his hand had come down, it was bone that splintered. Fingers sank down between shocking white ribs, bent, and pulled.

Then four, five, of the men had been on him, taking hold, physically lifting him off the ground. And still he would not let go his grip of the throat, no matter how much they tried. He only closed his fingers harder. Somehow that ripping had been the worst, the worst sound.

"Just when I thought I had him figured out." The captain briefly studied his own reflection in the rounded glass of the regeneration tank, before focusing his eyes on the pale figure hooked up to the machinery.

As he exited the room, he resisted the impulse to check the screen once again. The prisoner would be there, safely bound and locked away. He was not going to hurt anyone anymore.

It was strange to think about though, that it had been Vegeta himself who had done the actual binding.


	11. The immediate concern

**Chapter eleven**

The day they buried Bulma had been strangely calm, almost as if the ritual had made the time stand still. The next day, though, things had happened very, very fast.

"It would seem like the threat is over, now that the ship is gone," Gohan said, his steady, thoughtful voice drawing everyone's attention. It had quickly been decided that they would launch two of the space capsules, to find some answers to the questions that the aliens had left behind. After the capsules had been readied, they had gathered in Trunk's living room, to discuss the situation at hand.

Gohan was standing up, his back to a wall-wide glass cabinet filled with books, and Pan was next to him, a somber, concentrated look on her face. Goten sat on a thick rug, Veta and Sada snuggled up on either side of him, while Trunks, Miranda and Levi occupied the large, emerald green couch. For some reason, Bra had chosen a chair by the far wall, some distance apart from everyone else.

"It's still imperative though, that we gather more information," Gohan continued. "If you stop to think about it, we don't know anything except for what the captain told us. Perhaps this so-called 'Galaxy' has as many resources as he says, and perhaps it hasn't. We have no way of knowing. But that is going to change... we will not be caught off guard one more time!"

"Hear, hear," Bra muttered under her breath. It was an ironic mutter. She was not in the best of moods.

Gohan glanced mildly in her direction, before going back to what he was about to say, "What we have to decide is which of us are going. Much as I'd like to go myself, I'm afraid that I just can't leave Earth until we have confirmation that the danger has in fact passed."

There was a round of nods. Gohan's had already made it clear that his first responsibility lay with the Earth.

"I'll go." Goten raised a hand.

"Me too," Pan said, and her voice was as unbending as iron.

"And I." Bra did not hesitate, she was going, it almost went without saying. "I just hope, after all this talk about 'gathering information', that you're not forgetting that we're also looking for my father."

"Why yes, of course," Gohan said, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. "That is definitely our most immediate concern."

There was an extended moment of silence, and the air was thick with things unsaid. Trunks was the first to speak up, leaning back in the couch and laying one leg across the other.

"Well, you can count me out. I'm going to stay here. With my wife and my son." The silence, after that, was even more tensed. Miranda nodded slowly and reached out to take his hand. Levi, who was sitting next to his mother, opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again.

Later, Bra would berate herself for not trying to talk him out of it. She knew very well that there was a lot keeping her brother from leaving, but she was pretty sure that she could have made him change his decision if she had put some effort into it. Now she found that she couldn't say a word. She got to her feet and left the room.

It was just that she had had enough, she reasoned as she carried a small bag into the capsule. She had assumed that she and Trunks would be travelling together, looking for the ones that had taken their father.

Yet she shouldn't be surprised, she thought bitterly. In the past, hadn't Trunks disappointed her again and again when she had suggested that they should go somewhere together? When she had once laughed and hinted that he could use some time off, he had become impatient, patronizing. 'At least one of us is doing something important and productive,' he said, 'instead of just aimlessly traipsing around the world'. He had apologized afterwards, said that he was sorry, and they ended up spending the weekend together, talking about old times. Come to think about it, though, she had never asked Trunks to go on a trip with her ever again.

Bra dropped the bag on the floor. Bulma, who had been the one to equip the capsule some twenty years ago, seemed to have thought of everything, but there were still a couple of personal things that Bra wanted to bring. She looked around, letting her eyes linger on the few objects in the room. So this was it. A small circular chamber with two padded chairs, a metal table and several consoles and screens. A ladder led down to the sleeping alcoves. Oh, she could go nuts locked up in here, no doubt about it.

A timid knock startled her, she hadn't heard anyone approaching. She whirled around and found herself staring into the face of her nephew, less then an arm length away. The color of his eyes was striking, really, bright like the sun-lit tropical sea. _Just like, Mom's_. She actually had to look away for a while, steadying herself with a deep breath, before turning back to the boy. She hated this, this unholy haste; she needed to grieve, she needed some time to grieve.

"Er... hi!" Levi took a small step backwards and gave her a tense smile. He was wearing a very large backpack, as wide as the door, and higher then the top of his head. Padded straps weighted his shoulders. It almost appeared to heavy for his relatively slender frame, but he was carrying it without any visible effort.

"Levi..." Bra said slowly. "Is that a backpack you have there?"

"Yup." He gave her another tense smile, daring, and filled with hope. His blue eyes pleaded with her.

"That's what I thought." Bra frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well," she said after a long pause, during which the boy had visibly started to wilt. "In or out, either way I'm closing that door."

Levi practically jumped inside, and the door whooshed shut behind him.

The course of the diminutive space ship had already been set. All they would have to do was to press the large, red button that had the word 'go!' written on top, and they should be leaving the Earth's atmosphere in a matter of seconds.

Bra raised one eyebrow at the boy. She then turned and walked up to the console with stiff, even strides. She slammed her fist down on the button and the engines roared to life.

All in all, it was not one of her most well-considered decisions.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

In a way, it was actually pretty funny, Bra mused. To say that the boy's parents hadn't been happy would have been an understatement, but now they almost seemed to have gotten used to the idea. The other day, when she had talked to Trunks, he hadn't yelled at her once. Of course, the fact that nothing dangerous – or anything else for that matter – had happened yet, might have something to do with their amazing composure. It had been five days now, five days on this ship, and they hadn't come any closer to finding Vegeta.

Bra pushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed. Leaving her place by the screen, she walked up to the small, round window of the capsule. She found the deep silence oppressing. Levi was asleep, she was alone in the brightly lit room.

It was black out there, the myriad of stars did little to disperse the darkness in between. For years she had longed to see the stars like this, but now she felt almost ashamed to take this moment to enjoy them. Well, a part of her enjoyed them, another part found them thoroughly and utterly frustrating.

The problem with space, Bra mused gloomily, was that it simply had too many directions. To find something, if you didn't even know where to begin, was like the annoying needle in the haystack all over again. The stars only underlined the point: Too many directions.

She had been working by the computer 24 hours straight, trying to find a trace, a clue, anything that might tell her where the aliens were taking her father. In the beginning of their search, every little transmission that the computer had been able to pick up had sent her heart beating in hope and excitement. Now... looking at the glinting stars... she felt the first tendrils of bitter defeat. She refused to give up though, and she reminded herself of the other capsule, going in the opposite direction. She was not alone in this.

When the alien ship had disappeared, she hadn't really considered that they wouldn't find it again. Everything had happened so fast, so unexpectedly. Her mothers passing, the aliens' threats, the stone shattering the window, the ruined ground where East City had once lain. It all felt connected somehow, as if it were one single event. It couldn't just... end there, could it? Yet that was exactly how it had felt, like everything had come to an end.

They buried Bulma the day after, Trunks taking care of all the details with amazing speed.

Leaning even closer to the round window, Bra slowly exhaled and the glass in front of her mouth misted over. Hastily, before the mist disappeared, she painted with her finger an unsmiling face. Thinking of the funeral wasn't all that hard, really. It actually brought her a sense of comfort, albeit it was a melancholy kind of comfort.

She had gotten her wish. Bulma had been buried under the branches of a tall tree.

_Bra looked down at the smooth surface of the white coffin. She was holding a handful of earth, feeling the small pebbles press against her palm as she closed her fingers around the soil. She noticed the patterns that the long branches cast on the coffin, uneven stripes of shadow and sunlight. A gentle gust of wind made the leaves of the tree whisper, and the patterns shifted slightly, a dance that she found strangely restful._

_Her father should have been here, she though as she let go of the earth and watched it rain down upon the white wood. It wasn't right that Vegeta wasn't here for this._

_She heard a flutter of wings and raised her head to see two birds take flight from somewhere within the highest branches of the tree. Sparrows, she believed. They circled each other for a fleeting moment, swift and graceful against the empty sky. And she thought, as she watched them circle, that she should tell her father about this. Just tell him... about the birds._

Well_, Bra thought, as she left her place by the coffin and pulled her jacket tighter around her body. _Well, we search for meanings in the most curious of things.

"I miss you, Mom," Bra said, leaning her forehead against the cool surface of the window. "I really, really miss you."

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Bra padded over to one of the cushioned chairs, the soft slippers she was wearing making little or no sound against the grid-like surface of the floor. She sat down sideways in the chair, her legs dangling over the armrest.

Without changing her position, she reached out to press a sequence on a nearby keyboard, and the large screen in front of her flashed to life.

"What?" a voice said. "Oh, hello Bra." Pan was sitting in a room that was an exact mirror of Bra's. The other woman's back was very straight, and, Bra noticed, she was wearing heavy military-type boots.

On the edge of the screen, she saw Goten on the floor, doing pushups. He looked up and gave her a wave, before resuming his pushups one-handed, a deeply focused expression on his face as he went about his training.

"So have you found anything yet?"

"For the tenth time, Bra..." Pan glared at her, and Bra got the feeling that this was how she used to talk to her children when they were doing something that wasn't exactly wrong, but still extremely annoying. "If we found anything, anything at all, we would tell you."

"I know." Bra swung around in the chair, sitting cross-legged on the seat. "I know. It's just..." She sighed and leaned her chin in her hand.

"Listen," Pan said, her demeanor softening. "How long has it been since you got any sleep? You look beat." Once again Bra was reminded of how the other woman must have talked to her children.

A few days earlier, Bra had, mostly as a joke, asked her why she hadn't taken the two girls with her on the ship. In all seriousness, Pan said that, sure, she had been meaning to bring them, but at the last minute Gohan had talked her into leaving them with him and Videl. It seemed like his insistence that it might be dangerous hadn't impressed Pan nearly as much as the fact that it might get boring, locked up in the ship for who knew how long.

"Actually," Bra said, smiling slightly. "I _am_ kind of tired. Bed sounds like a really good idea right now."

"Okay, guess we'll hear from you later," Pan said, a hint of dry amusement in her voice. "Sweet dreams," she added, as the screen went blank.

"Thanks." Bra yawned widely and rubbed her eyes. "I suppose you can't compromise with sleep," she said with a mock-fatalistic sigh.

Touching a switch on the wall, she turned off the light. The soothing darkness made her aware of just how tired she really was, and she could feel her eyelids drooping as she walked across the room. Slowly she climbed down the first steps of the ladder. She couldn't go to sleep just yet, though. Not without glancing one last time out of the window.

The stars appeared unchanged, immovable, even though she know for a fact that the ship was soaring through space at an incredible speed. It was totally silent around her, no sounds from the engines, not a whisper out of the waiting screens. It was eerie, dreamlike. Just the dark, the ladder she was hanging on to, and the distances on all sides.

Were they going anywhere, were they getting any closer? Or were they just standing there, suspended in space like a dream?

_Father_, she thought, staring into the emptiness. _Father, where are you?_


	12. Prisoner

**Chapter** **twelve**

The prisoner moved very little. Alone in his quarters, captain Asdef had been staring at him for nearly an hour. In all this time, he hadn't seen him move once from his sitting position by the wall. Perhaps he was sleeping.

He leaned closer, squinting, as if that might make him see the prisoner's features more clearly. The camera took in the entire part of the room, and the still figure was slightly blurry. He was relatively sure though, that the prisoner's eyes were wide open.

Asdef felt his stomach tighten into a knot, and he was aware that his mouth was half open in a mixture of breathless horror and breathless fascination.

He knew that he wasn't really required to look in on the prisoner. It wasn't duty that prompted him to turn on the screen again and again, and it certainly wasn't duty that made him wait until he was inside the privacy of his own quarters, hiding his actions like a thief.

Still, he wasn't the only one that was behaving differently when the prisoner was concerned. There was an inexplicable tension onboard. No one showed any satisfaction over their accomplishment, no boasting and no voices raised in speculation. There seemed to exist a silent agreement not to bring up the subject of the prisoner, as if mentioning his name might upset some sort of fragile balance. No one said it, but everyone could feel it.

They had captured a monster.

Asdef leaned back in his chair and sighed. The mission had been successful beyond belief. Vegeta was safely locked away. There was no need for fear, no need even to acknowledge his presence. Whatever happened next was in the hands of the Galaxy.

What was it then, that made him wait to turn on the screen until no one was around? Who was he hiding from? The Galaxy wouldn't care one way or the other, all that mattered was the results. The crew? They were loyal to the Galaxy, as he was. All they had to do right now was to serve as a ship of transportation, bringing the prisoner to the allotted destination. The details of conduct regarding their cargo wasn't a given, even though he felt that the proper thing was to pay no attention to him. But looking at him wasn't disobedience. If he would like to talk to him, that too wouldn't be disobedience. Who, after all, was going to stop him?

That's when he knew that he actually wanted to do it, knew when he heard himself justify it in his own mind. He wanted to go down there and talk to the prisoner, even though it would have been so easy not to. He wasn't sure what he was hoping to accomplish. Nothing, perhaps. Perhaps he was just giving in to this unexplainable fascination; perhaps he wanted a closer look.

He couldn't remember the last time he had done something this impulsive. The metallic sound of his footsteps echoed in his ears as he walked towards the secured wing. Compared to the rest of the ship, those corridors were dark and narrow, and as he had expected, they were all empty. Again he felt like a thief, a liar, doing something that he might find very hard to explain if he was questioned.

The trust of the Galaxy was something that it took a long time to gain, and it could all be lost in an instant. When the Readers had given him this ship, he had taken it as a sign that all his years of spotless service had not passed unnoticed. Since then he had only continued to prove his complete loyalty towards the Galaxy, even though they had been given nothing but low priority routine missions. Until now, that was.

He paused as he rounded a corner and saw the corridor in front of him shrouded in absolute darkness. With fumbling fingers he touched a switch on the wall, and thin streaks of light appeared along the roof. He continued walking, the sound of his footsteps strange and loud.

He well remembered Vegeta's words: _You are the ship they send, expecting everyone in it to die._

It was true, they had been expected to die, and to do it willingly. They had been thrust into the game board to be sacrificed, sacrificed for the sake of the future. By all accounts it was a great privilege to be trusted to such an extent. And even though he feared death, even though they all feared death, they had still been mindful of this privilege.

A small smile grazed his lips. It felt stiff and unnatural; he didn't smile very often.

They had been ready to die, but this time death had been cheated. The pawn was still alive.

He stopped when the corridor came to an abrupt end and he stood in front of a thick, unadorned door. He was here, much sooner then he had been ready for. Once he opened that door, he would come face to face with Vegeta.

What then? What could he possibly say? Nothing was demanded of him in matters of preparation of explanation.

Perhaps the prisoner had some questions. He was flooded with relief. Right. Of course. He could answer questions about the Law. There must be many things that the prisoner wanted to know.

With sudden resolve, he turned the large handle of the door. A deep clang could be heard as the heavy locking mechanism unbolted, and he was distantly thankful for the warning the noise would give to the prisoner. He didn't like the idea of barging in on him completely unannounced.

The massive door swung open.

He must have steeled himself for some sort of aggressive reaction, because he was stunned when Vegeta merely lifted his eyes to look at him for a moment, and then expressionlessly looked away, as if his presence was of no consequence.

Asdef just stood there, staring at the prisoner sitting on the other side of the glass wall. He had not, after all, been prepared for the sheer _presence_ of the other man. He had not expected his heart to miss a beat, had not expected this ache in his chest. A weird thought coursed through his mind: _It's like we have harnessed a supernova._

"What do you want?" Vegeta's voice was low, disinterested. "Have you come to poke me with a stick?"

"What?" Asdef said, a hushed, disbelieving whisper.

"Never mind." Vegeta turned his head to face him. He briefly showed his teeth in a subdued smile that had nothing to do with mirth.

"R-right." A chill ran down his back. He started to wish that he hadn't come down here. Belatedly he registered the question. What did he want? "I'm here to explain your situation. If there's anything you like to ask?"

Silence. Asdef took a deep breath and felt some of his tension leave him. He took a few steps forward, reducing the distance to the prisoner. After only a second of hesitation, he lowered himself down on the floor, his back against the wall. Sitting side by side, they were only separated by the thin sheen of glass that split the room in two.

"Here's the situation," the captain began, assuming, with some difficulty, a detached, business-like manner. "You are now a prisoner of the Galaxy. As a former soldier of Frieza you fall within a certain section of the Law. The Law will determine..."

"Did you wait for her to die?"

"Excuse me?" Asdef abruptly turned his head towards the prisoner.

Vegeta met his eyes thought the glass and spoke very clearly. "Did you wait for her to die?"

"No. That is – no, not exactly." He realized just how close he was sitting to the prisoner. The dark gaze burned him through the glass, and he unconsciously moved further away. "It was a balance act. I thought it tactical to... But, you see, if it isn't a question of ongoing warfare the directives says to announce our purpose right away, so we had little choice in the matter."

"You knew." It was flatly spoken, with a calm that conveyed absolute certainty.

"When we entered the planet's atmosphere we did not know where you were. We were prepared to be attacked, but..." Vegeta slammed his hand against the glass, and Asdef started violently at the unexpected interruption.

"You knew about _her_." This time Vegeta's words were spoken with an intensity that made the captain turn away, breaking their close eye contact with something like self-preservation.

"Yes," he said levelly. Inside he was trembling, more from a strange sense of awe then from actual apprehension. "Our equipment allows us to listen in on all transmissions, and we're also, although poorly, able to single out conversations that aren't enhanced by any kind of communication device." He cleared his throat and continued, feeling like he was treading too close to uncharted territory. "Once the upflare of ki had given us your location, it was a fairly easy matter to... determine the situation."

He dared a glance to the side, and was vaguely relieved to see that Vegeta had turned away, staring straight ahead as he had done before. The silence stretched out, became more and more noticeable.

Her, he had said. As if there could be no question of who he was referring to.

Asdef shifted uneasily on the hard floor. It occurred to him that this was nothing he wanted to talk about. He wasn't sure exactly what Vegeta's relationship had been with the dying woman, and neither did he want to know.

"Should I tell you where we're going?" The question was harsh and abrupt, some part of him actually offended that the prisoner hadn't asked yet.

"Very well." Vegeta's voice held no inflection.

"We're heading for Node City Dania. It's the closest of the node cities." Asdef paused. "Do you know where that is?"

No reply.

"Dania was severely scourged under Frieza, and then again during the wars that followed. I doubt any of the original inhabitants are still alive. The planet has became something of a refuge for those that have nowhere else to go."

_Some of them might actually remember you personally._

The thought was sobering. It put everything in perspective.

"Do you see that?" Asdef pointed at one of the far corners, where a tiny red light blinked. Vegeta lifted his head and his eyes followed the direction he had indicated. "It's a camera. The Galaxy is letting everyone know of your... well, capture, as it is."

"You're saying...?" Vegeta stared at the speck of light, revealing just the slightest bit of discomfort, before he looked away. He turned his eyes straight ahead again and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes." The captain felt a minuscule twinge of triumph. "I told you that your penalty was a public matter. The Galaxy is broadcasting information on who you are and what you did for Frieza. They will learn the meaning of the metal around your neck. Those that so wishes will, if possible, be allowed transportation to Node City Dania."

"And what, pray tell, will happen once we arrive?"

"Well," Asdef said slowly, vaguely taken aback by the sarcasm. "Perhaps they will transfer you to the surface, but I rather suspect they will let you remain here on the ship. Better security."

"Oh yeah? Wouldn't that nullify the reason of going to Dania?"

"Well no, not as such. At special request the people on Dania will be allowed to come aboard the ship, a limited number at a time.

"So essentially," Vegeta said grittily. "They will come here, in orderly groups, to stare at me while I die?"

"It's an unusual case!" There hadn't really been any accusation in Vegeta's voice, but the captain suddenly felt highly defensive. "We all have to make sacrifices for the Law."

Vegeta slowly turned towards the captain, giving him a long, cool glance.

"You don't..." Asdef abruptly got to his feet and took a few steps across the room. Stopping by the door, he looked back at the prisoner. "I'm telling you the Law. Nothing is greater then the Law. Through it the Galaxy has brought an era of peace, an end to war!"

Asdef reached for the door handle, noticing that his hand was trembling slightly. "Hah," he breathed, amazed by his own outburst, by the passion that had taken a hold on him. He looked at the prisoner, and spoke almost serenely. "Never again will whole populaces be slaughtered in the name of mindless conquest."

Time to leave. He pushed the door open, a gust of air from the empty corridor gentle stroking his face. It was true, he reflected. The Law had made it all worthwhile.

"Is there... anything I can do for you?"

The question was more of an afterthought, and it struck him that Vegeta might consider it as mockery. What was there after all, that he could do? But the self-reliance had made him feel generous, and he wanted to leave on a more conciliatory note, much like he had wanted to enter the room in a civil manner. He did not expect a reply, and he nearly missed it as he stepped out through the door.

"I'm cold."

The words were as insubstantial as the breeze on his face.

"What did you say?"

A brief pause before Vegeta spoke again, his drifting voice hardly catching the captain's ears. "I'm accustomed to higher temperatures."

He couldn't believe that they hadn't thought about that. Must be because they had done their best to forget he was there at all. For being warm-blooded, their own species was unusually adapted to low temperatures. Looking across the room at the prisoner, he could see a hint of white mist in his exhalation, a clear sign of the truth in his statement.

"I'll see to it," Asdef said. Something made him add, "I'm sorry."

He waited, but the prisoner didn't seem to have anything more to add. So he took the last step into the corridor, letting the door fall shut. He turned the lock, felt the movement of the heavy machinery echoing through his hands. Felt that this was too big, too big for him to handle alone. Then he thought that that was vanity. _He_ wasn't doing anything, all he did was to serve as a tool for the Galaxy, nothing else.

Besides, all that was left to do now was to wait. It would be over soon enough.


	13. Finding the right direction

**Chapter** **thirteen**

Levi slowly stepped up to one of the control panels. He did it awkwardly, since he might just as well have stayed where he was. He sighed, pushed his hair away from his forehead and glanced at Bra.

His aunt was clearly busy, staring at the columns on the screen in front of her. Her fingers wandered over the keyboard with an unfaltering ease that never ceased to amaze him. A small clicking sound could be heard every time she pressed one particular button. As he watched, he saw her raise her hands to rub her shoulders. She rolled her head back and forth, relieving some tension.

She should take a break, he thought. She hadn't left her seat for hours. He was hesitant to disturb her though, not just because he knew she was doing something important, but also because he was puzzled by own thoughts. He had never felt _concerned_ for an adult before. Besides, this was his aunt, his cool aunt, who always did what she wanted, no matter what anyone said. He still couldn't get over how she had let him come with her, just like that.

He cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to widen the reach of the bass-space receiver." She didn't turn around as she talked, and she kept pressing that one clicking button.

"I see." He didn't, really. She knew so much, more than seemed possible for one person. The other day he had tried to tell her how amazing it was that she could find her way around the myriad of buttons that littered the ship. There were buttons on the _walls_, for crying out loud. She hadn't thought it was much to talk about, though. She just shrugged, and muttered something about her mother being able to do it ten times better.

Levi sauntered over to the middle of the room and plunged down into one of the large, stuffed chairs. He glances at the chair next to him, and raised his eyebrows when he saw what was lying on the seat. It was a small book, leather-bound, with the word 'Photos' written in golden letters across the front. Old and worn. It must have come with Bra's private stuff.

He saw his chance when she leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. Before she could start working again, he hastily held up the diminutive photo album. "What's this?" Not that he was interested. In his experience, looking at photos was mind-numbingly boring, not to mention embarrassing as heck.

He remembered his mother showing him photos from her childhood, getting all emotional and teary-eyed. He hadn't known whether he should just leave her alone, or pretend to be interested. Unfamiliar faces, smiling at him from an endless line of birthday parties and beach outings. Ugh. He was pretty sure though, that most people loved to show off their photos.

As he had hoped, Bra, after just a moment of hesitation, got to her feet and left her place by the console. Accepting the album, she turned it over it a considering manner. She sank down in the large chair and pulled her feet up. "Say it in galaxian," she yawned.

Levi found himself grinning. She just never quit.

The first day of their journey, she had constructed a program that could translate the alien transmissions. Personally, he though it worked splendidly, but Bra kept insisting that they should learn to speak the language themselves, without the computer translating it for them. So far, neither of them were doing a very good job of it.

"I…" He searched for the word for 'see' and ended up pointing at his eyes, one finger for each eye. He _knew_ he didn't know the word for 'picture', and improvised with, "You are teacher." Meaning that she should tell him about the photos.

"Good." She smiled at him and opened the album. He saw that each page consisted of a single plastic pocket that held only one photo. She didn't start at the beginning, but haphazardly opened it in the middle, skipping several pages.

He leaned over to get a closer look. The photo showed a group of people, sitting at a table. It looked like an outdoor café. He singled out Bra, holding a small cookie halfway to her mouth. Her hair, he saw, was long. It hung in thick, wispy strands, well past her shoulders. Levi remembered her hair like that, back when he had lived with his parents. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. At some point she had chosen to cut it, and wore it short ever since.

"Here…" Bra paused, hissed and sputtered aimlessly as she tried to find the right words in the alien tongue. Levi looked down, pursing his lips to keep from smiling.

His eyes fell on the picture again, his interest caught by the background. He squinted at the hazy city outline. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't really place it. Ah. The tall, thin building in the left top corner gave him the clue he was looking for. It was the famous television mast of East City, long since made into a museum. East City. All gone now. Kind of cool.

"Here." Bra held the album closer to him. "We… all of us… school. Not now. Long ago."

Levi glanced at the other people in the picture, one man and two women, and a sense of unreality came over him. They had gone to school with Bra? They looked so much older then her. The man had grey in his hair, while the woman at his side smiled merrily, a thousand of wrinkles all over her face.

Feeling a bit shy, Levi stared at Bra. She had one arm loosely wrapped around her drawn-up legs, and she seemed very relaxed. She didn't _look_ middle-aged. She didn't look like she was twenty either. There was something… undeterminable about the curves of her features, about the way her straight hair was shining in the florescent light. She glanced at him, a faint question on her face, and he gave her a tense smile before he returned to the album.

The next picture showed mountains and glaciers. She turned the page, and his heart skipped a beat. A close-up on Bra, next to a tall dark-skinned woman, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. A world of snow surrounded them, far peaks drew chalked lines against the icy sky.

"Me…" She pointed. "And Monique," she moved her finger to the dark-skinned woman. "We go. Big… tall." She gave a frustrated huff and gestured widely with her free arm.

"Mountain?" he guessed, honestly forgetting that he was supposed to say it in 'galaxian'.

"That's right." She smiled slightly to herself. "Have you ever heard about Mount Kaisejaur?"

"Sure! You climbed Kaisejaur? I never knew that." It seemed like the lesson in linguistics was over for the time being.

"I did. Me and Monique… That's how she pronounced her name, you knew. Moniq-ue." Bra rested the album on her knee and let her thumb glide lightly over the plastic that covered the photo. "She used to call me Snow Princess, can you believe it?"

He could, actually. In the photo she was wearing a white fur hat and a heavy blue scarf was wrapped around her neck. She was grinning like she had never been happier.

"You know…" Bra said. "We were the first women in the world ever to reach the top, but we never told anyone. It was kind of fun, climbing Kaisejaur just for the hell of it."

"Mhm." He wasn't sure how to respond. Something about what she was saying had struck a chord within him, had made some part of him raise up in recognition. This was the way he wanted to be. He felt… powerful. Inspired. _I have nothing to prove, I can do anything I want._

Bra said something about having to wear dark glasses and sweating a lot. He wasn't really listening. It was so strange, what he was feeling. Strange and new. Why hadn't he realised it before, how free he was, if he wanted to be?

He had a brief fantasy about beating something up, say a snarling, bloodthirsty alien who was attacking a house filled with innocent people. Bloody and defeated, the alien monster would turn towards him and ask, 'Why did you _do_ this?' and he'd say, 'Because I wanted to!'

"Hehe…" Levi snickered under his breath. _What_? he defended himself from an invisible sceptic. _It could_ _happen._

"Well…" Bra slowly closed the album. He glanced at her, seeing a distant look on her face. "Father would have…" Her voice trailed off, and she didn't continue what she was going to say.

Levi didn't say anything either. The momentary amusement left him, and he leaned back in the chair, rested his head on the soft cushion. Stillness settled over the room. He closed his eyes, heard Bra sink deeper into her chair and make a drowsy sound at the back of her throat. The light on the other side of his eyelids grew dimmer. He could fall asleep like this.

A brief melodic noise, "beeba-bipp", roused him from the onset of slumber. He blinked grudgingly. What was that?

Bra sat bolt upright. "It's the automatic scan!"

She rushed to one of the consoles and started to press buttons.

Sigh.

"Hey, it's for real this time!" Bra called out the words over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse if her nervous, flushed smile before she returned to the buttons.

It slowly dawned on him what she was saying. It wasn't just another false alarm, this could be the very thing they had been looking for. He stepped up to her side, excitement at the pit of his stomach. And to think, his first reaction when he heard the signal had been nothing but a slight feeling of annoyance.

"I put a tag on father's name," Bra murmured. "Wow, a very strong signal to this message. Lots of info. Oh! Visual." Her fingers flew furiously over the keyboard. "Look over there." She turned towards the big screen, one hand gripping Levi's shoulder.

At first he couldn't make it out. The screen was dark, but it wasn't the darkness of space. It was a room, the plain walls shrouded in shadows. Someone was sitting in that room, leaning against one of the walls. Levi recognised him immediately.

"Dad," Bra whispered.

It was really him. He moved, crossed his legs and lowered his head so they could no longer see his face. They still stared though, at the small signs of his breathing, stared raptly when he lifted his hand to lightly touch the back of his neck. He felt so close, breathing and moving right in front of them.

Abruptly, with an audible gasp, Bra turned back to the console. Figures flickered while she stared at the small screen. She raised her hand and wiped at her cheek, and when she returned her hand to the buttons he saw a trace of moisture on her slim knuckles. Levi looked away, waited in silence while she worked.

"I think…" Bra finally spoke. "I think the message is coming from a planet. Not terribly far from here, actually." She looked at him, and for a second a disturbingly helpless expression crossed her face.

"Well," he fumbled. "That's good news, isn't it?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath, her eyes going back to the large screen that showed the image of her father. "I can't say for certain," she murmured after a while. "There's something strange about the signal. It's… echo-y."

"Oh." Levi cleared his throat. "How long before we get there?"

"At this speed? More then a month."

He wasn't falling for that, he heard the light teasing that had suddenly entered her voice. "A month? Okay." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"At top speed, however…" She gave him a sideways smile. "We could be there within 48 hours."

"Cool." He smiled back at her. "Hey, can I ask, if we're that fast, how come we have been going so slow the whole time?"

"Easy. The faster we're going, the harder it is to pick up the transmissions. Besides, we had no idea which way to look." She rolled her eyes. "For all we knew, we might have sped off in the wrong direction entirely."

Levi snickered.

"We'll lose the signal, once we're on our way." She turned to the large screen, Vegeta hadn't moved from his position by the dark wall. "Better save as much as possible, I want to hear some of the translations. Get some clue what we're up against."

Levi nodded, wide-eyed. This was really it. 48 hours.

"Alright!" Bra clapped her hands together. "Alright! I'll program the destinations. Before we go, we have to tell everyone, perhaps Pan and Goten can catch the signal as well. Levi!"

"Yes?" He felt like he should have been standing at attention.

"Get the others on the line!" She turned to him, and grinned widely. "They'll be glad to hear _this_."


	14. The Readers of Dania

**Chapter 14**

Asdef was not good with names. In his service he had encountered many people, many leaders and officials of different planets. He would make the effort of learning their names for the duration of their dealings, but then the names would immediately slip from his mind. This had never really bothered him. After all, what did it matter what people called themselves? The important thing was that sometimes they were reluctant and defiant, but more often they were ready to listen to the Law.

This however, was a different situation entirely.

Asdef straightened his back and looked around at the circle of faces. He had rarely seen such an assorted group of people. There were about thirty of them, all belonging to different species. Even their clothes were mixed, not two shades of the same colour, as if they had each decided to dress in a manner that separated them from everyone else. Except for the hats, that was. They were all wearing the high cylindrical hats of the Readers.

Asdef discretely tugged at the collar of his uniform jacket, conscious of the fact that he had made a grave miscalculation. He had known that the Readers of Node City Dania might eventually call for a meeting, but it had never occurred to him to learn anything about them in advance. He didn't even know their names.

His eyes were drawn to an old woman, head and shoulders taller then anyone else, her large, wrinkled hands poised regally on the ornamented arm-rests of her chair. She had been the one who had greeted him when he had arrived, giving him the impression that she was the leader of the assembly. But, Asdef reminded himself, there were no leaders among the Readers. They all served equally as the eyes, the ears, and the hands of the Galaxy.

He was still a bit disorientated from the ride over the city. Through the window of the small vessel he had seen a myriad of buildings reaching to every horizon, a sight that the close quarters of his ship made all the more impressive. He had instantly noticed the tower, the dark squat building that was the actual Node, dominating the city line like a tree stump in a field of flowers. When the vessel came closer he had realized just how large it really was. Entering its shadow was like entering the dark side of a moon.

It was his first time inside a Node, the first time he had met any of the Readers. It occurred to him, their hats imitated the shape of the building. It was a peculiar detail, one that he knew he would ponder later… and probably ascribe a whole lot of significance.

Asdef shifted in his seat. He was in a strange mood, dark and defensive. It came to him that he was disappointed. Disappointed? That didn't made any sense. He made himself stop fidgeting.

When he had arrived at Dania, the Readers had briefly contacted the ship. As he had assumed, they preferred to let the prisoner remain right where he was. Asdef had made arrangements to receive the visitor groups from the planet, seen to it that his soldiers would escort them to the room where the prisoner was kept.

There had been some disturbance concerning the prisoner, Asdef recalled. Some of the visitors had insisted that the guards should follow them into the room, rather than wait outside. The guards had reported scenes of crying and cursing, but he hadn't seen any reason to change his instructions. It wasn't his business to comfort or reassure the visitors, and they didn't need the guards to protect them. Between the glass and the drug, the room was perfectly safe.

He had also postponed the scheduled visits for four hours every night, to give the prisoner some time to rest. He wondered if the Readers would bring this up. It had seemed like the self-evident thing to do, but now he couldn't help but question his own motives.

"Captain." The old woman spoke again. Her voice echoed between the towering walls of the chamber. "I've been viewing the recordings from your ship, and I found something that we all should see." She nodded to the Reader to her left, a slim creature covered in a furry pelt, who got to his feet and dodged behind the line of chairs. Asdef heard him scurrying back there, doing something that involved pulling a long wire across the floor.

"It will only be a moment," the woman said calmly.

A few seconds passed, the hum of conversation filling the air. Asdef looked to his left, his attention caught by the sound of a huffing sigh. Three chairs away sat a young woman in a white shirt, a bored expression on her face. As if she could feel his gaze, she turned her head and looked back at him. For an instant her eyes were wide and uncertain, and then the same bored look came back to hide whatever she was thinking.

Asdef turned the other direction, and found himself face to face with the person sitting next to him. Brown eyes, outlined in black, contrasted sharply against the chalk-white skin. Dark lips quirked slightly in a smile that Asdef felt himself unable to return. He swallowed, staring. Coincidence or not, this Reader had the looks of Frieza.

"Don't worry." The Reader leaned closer. He was dressed entirely in a pink robe, and the wide sleeve fell down to his elbow as he lifted a hand to his mouth and whispered conspiratorially. "I get that a lot." The smile became an outright grin, and the edges of his eyes crinkled deeply. Asdef nodded guardedly.

"It's ready." The announcement came from the old woman who seemed to be the spokesperson of the meeting. Asdef noted that the furry Reader had resumed his place by her side.

He heard a low mechanical sound and looked up. A contraption that looked like a giant glass spider was slowly being lowered from the ceiling. With an inelegant clank it stopped a few metres above the middle of the circle. Abruptly the air in front of him was bathed in a misty light; only then did he realize what was happening.

Colours moved and rippled, gathering to outline four separate figures that seemed to solidify until they became perfectly lifelike. With a pang he recognized himself, standing on the deck of his own ship. He was lifting his arm in a wide arc, indicating something outside the rage of the light. A map, Asdef thought, he was standing in front of a map of stars. He spoke, the words drifted eerily from every direction.

"This and this and this too belong to the Galaxy."

His small audience followed the direction he had pointed out, letting their eyes roam over the invisible stars. Two men and a woman. One of the men had correctional lenses in front of his eyes, and the other man, who was slightly shorter, frowned at him under bangs of feathery pale hair. The woman stood between them, her arms crossed and her mouth a thin line. He remembered them well.

The woman spoke, anger evident in her voice. "We're surrounded, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." Asdef saw his replica open his mouth as if to say something else, but he closed it again. He glanced back at the chart, at the air where the stars should have been. The three strangers exchanged looks behind his back, apparently unsure about what to do next. The expressions on their faces spoke of restraint and intelligence.

"So what would happen if we were to destroy this ship?" The light-haired man sounded relaxed, as if only mildly curious about the answer.

Asdef remembered being scared, remembered thinking that he might die right then. Strange how the visitors had appeared a lot more hostile the first time he had seen them.

"If we fail here on Earth," he said slowly. "Others will know, and others will come. The next ship might not stop for negotiations."

It had been meant to sound like a warning, but Asdef thought it sounded more like an excuse to save his own skin. He felt a burst of indignation, that the Readers were watching him like this.

The dark-haired man had a deeply thoughtful look on his face. "We are far from defenceless," he said.

"That's right," the woman added. "Better warn your precious Galaxy to stay away. You're in way over your head here." She took a step closer.

He was surprised to see that his own face was so calm. "You will solve nothing by resisting. The best thing you can do right now is to cooperate."

"Cooperate? Hello. You're the one who threatened to blow up the bloody planet!" Her words came hot and fast; they echoed across the chamber.

"You don't understand…"

"No," she said. "_You_ are the one that doesn't understand. Didn't you hear? We are powerful, more powerful than you or anyone else can imagine."

He shook his head. "You might be powerful, but that's beside the point. Weapons or power can't shield you from the Law."

"Some law, that lets you kill billions of innocent people."

"I… No…" He was literally stuttering. "If you would just cooperate…"

"You want me do demonstrate, is that it?" She lifted her chin, sneering. "Because I could give you a demonstration."

He remembered her steady gaze. It had chilled him to the bone. And then there had been the gathering of tension. Now he felt it again. The air was too heavy; it pushed against his ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It almost felt like the chamber floor was vibrating, even though he knew that wasn't possible. It had to be the memory of his ship, trembling under his feet. The woman wasn't moving, but her hair was, and her clothes. She was summoning her own personal storm.

"Pan, wait!" The tall man laid a hand on her arm. He talked quietly, insistently, too low for the others to hear. The tension was easing. Her hair grudgingly conquered the wind and fell back around her shoulders. Her body language told him she was backing away, but she kept staring, her eyes hard and unyielding.

The image froze. So intently did he focus, he didn't realize the recording had stopped at first. Then the figures disappeared, abruptly as if someone had pulled a switch. The absence of the misty light made it feel like the temperature had dropped several degrees. Asdef looked around at the circle of Readers. Except for the whirring sound as the glass spider ascended, the silence was total. It was like no one wanted to be the first to comment what they had seen.

---

The white-faced Reader to his right cleared his throat. He waited until Asdef looked at him, and then addressed his words directly to him, although his voice was loud enough for all to hear. "You are very quick to threaten an entire planet."

"It was a strategy," Asdef said stiffly. "I thought the threat might make Vegeta come to us. It worked."

It was hard to tell what the Reader was thinking. His manner was muted, relaxed, and he stared at Asdef without blinking. "You gamble with high stakes."

"And it worked," he said again, ill at ease under the enigmatical stare of the Reader.

"Be that as it may," the spokesperson cut in. "Let's focus on the issue that I presented to you. That woman's power rose from unremarkable to over a hundred thousand. It's possible that she's capable of many times more."

"Quite possible," the Reader to her left agreed.

"And the same might be said for her two companions," a clear voice chimed in. Asdef craned his neck to see who had spoken, and he stared for a moment at the small creature who sat on the edge of the chair, dangling its stubby legs like a child.

"Astute as always, Reader Ollera." The spokesperson lowered her head in a bow that seemed slightly exaggerated. "Neither do these people deny knowing Vegeta. Isn't that right?" There was a moment of silence.

"Captain? Shipholder?"

Asdef realized that the question had been directed at him. "No…" He cleared his throat. "No, they never denied knowing Vegeta. It fact, it's obvious that they were acquainted, since they lived under the same roof down on Earth."

"I see." The spokesperson raised her voice to silence the murmur that greeted this statement. "I have considered the possibility that the three strangers might be Vegeta's disciples… or his offspring."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

"Why didn't you tell us about this at once?" a man with a white beard asked Asdef.

"It's all in the ship records." He didn't know what to say. It had never occurred to him that the Readers would be interested in the prisoner's former living arrangements.

"Never mind that." The spokesperson folded her hands in a controlled manner. "Now, you did report to us about the power reading – even larger than Frieza's – that initially led you to Vegeta. Is it possible that that reading might have come from somebody else?"

"I suppose so," Asdef said slowly, then added: "My speculation is as good as yours." He thought he heard a grunt of approval from the Reader to his right.

"Of course it's possible," Reader Ollera snapped. "For all we know, these three aren't the only ones of Vegeta's children. There might be hundreds! And considering the time he has spent on Earth, the genepool…"

The murmur broke out again.

"Not inconceivable…"

"A whole planet of…"

"It's possible."

"Oh, shut up." The Reader in the pink robe met the stares of the other Readers with raised eyebrows and a cheerful smile.

"Speaker, he's doing it again." The complaint came from Ollera, and his voice was pitched high in an undeniable whine. Asdef discovered that his mouth had fallen open and promptly closed it again.

The spokesperson shook her head. "No voice will be silenced. Reader Ollera will speak, and then Reader Rok, since he obviously has something on his mind."

"Very well." The small Reader got to his feet and took a few steps forward. "The thing is, I'm tired of the insolence, the never-ending commentary." He spun around and pointed an accusatory finger at the still smiling Reader.

"He has no solemnity!"

"On topic, dear," the spokesperson sighed. Asdef could hear a stifled snicker.

"Yes, Speaker." The dots on his cheeks might have been a blush, but they were gone as soon as they appeared. "I was merely pointing out the unsuitable behaviour." He looked around, meeting the eyes of each and every Reader until he stood in a circle of perfect silence. "We all know where this is going. Billions of lives might be at stake."

"Ollera." The spokesperson looked slightly troubled. "Don't say that."

"Yes, we were just speculating!"

"We never…"

"Ollera is right." The Reader called Rok dropped the words as if they weighed a ton. He was no longer smiling.

Ollera looked at him. He nodded suspiciously and folded his arms over his chest.

"I see there wasn't much protest either," Rok said. Several Readers greeted the words with faces of stone, while others looked definitely uncomfortable.

"We can't just ignore what we have seen," Ollera said.

"That any three persons have access to such powers is bad enough. That they might be Vegeta's offspring makes it all the more serious."

"Power in itself is not a crime against the Law." Rok stood up, and the pink robe flowed around his legs as he walked across the floor. He stopped a few steps from the shorter Reader.

"Neither is parentage."

"True," Ollera said. "But it would be naïve to assume that these factors wouldn't have an effect on the judging."

"You speak as if we have no choice. But you shouldn't confuse strength with threat. That error has been done before."

"Oh, don't get started on that again!" The anger was instantaneous. "New Namek was a true judging of the Galaxy."

Reader Rok folded his hands behind his back, speaking lazily. "New Namek was a mistake, one that could easily happen again."

"Now wait here…"

"It was a true judging!" The outburst came from the young woman in the white shirt. She wasn't the only one raising her voice. "The Galaxy makes no mistakes."

Rok turned his head and looked at her, his dark lips crooked in a brief half-smile. "Really, Idann? Is this something you want to defend?"

"I…" She sank deeper into her chair. "We have to believe in the larger picture. Have faith…" Her voice trailed off.

"I hear the people of New Namek were very friendly," Rok said quietly. "They greeted the black ships with hospitality."

Asdef saw Idann take a deep breath. She didn't say anything, but her face was filled with unspoken emotion.

Rok turned his back to her. "Whatever one might _believe_," the word was tinted with a sort of amused contempt. "It always comes down to one thing." He paused, and Asdef found himself leaning forward to hear what he was going to say. "The output is always determined by the input."

As if finally reaching some crucial pressure point, the meeting exploded in chaos.

Ollera said something that sounded like a protest, but his words were drowned by an uproar of voices. At least ten other Readers got to their feet, shouting and gesturing. It was ear-shattering. Asdef just sat there, exclamations and pieces of sentences washing over him in a meaningless tangle.

"I've always said…"

"Unprecedented? You fools!"

"We have no right…"

"Right!"

"…another Frieza never again!"

Asdef felt gravely out of place. The disorder made him uneasy, and he didn't understand half of what was going on. He looked at the spokesperson, but she just sat there, apparently preferring to wait it all out.

This was not how he had expected the Readers to behave. He had expected… something like a clergy. Silent chambers and heads bent in obedience. Above all else, the obedience. The Readers passed along the orders of the Galaxy, not much more.

He looked from one shouting Reader to another, his heart sinking in his chest. He had felt it before he even entered the chamber. Here was power. Here was authority.

The disappointment, he though, was caused by the demise of his illusions.

Across the room the furry Reader had climbed up on top of the backrest of his chair, his plumy tail lashing back and forth. His mouth kept opening and closing, adding to the noise his animalistic roars.


	15. A wall of glass

**Chapter 15**

If it hadn't been for the wall of glass, the room might have resembled a cave. It was not too large or too bright. The light had just the right dimness for him to close his eyes. But the glass was a distraction. Because of the glass he didn't possess the whole room. He couldn't take in the ceiling, the floor, the confinement, and call it his own.

On the other side of the glass moved the shapes of intruders. They marked him with their eyes, and with their presence. Sometimes the shapes talked to him. "Do you remember," they would say. "Do you remember us?" He didn't take the challenge. He didn't look at them, he didn't talk to them, and the voices would fall silent. They would give him their silence and their staring. Even when they were gone, he wasn't unmarked. There was a permanent red eye looking down at him from the ceiling. It watched him when he moved; it watched him when he took a drink of water.

He knew there was something in the water, something to mimic food. The nourishment felt impure, and it made him nauseous. But he did control the water.

He didn't count the days. Time was nothing without change, or movement. Here, the room was the time.

He sat. He played games. Played that the drug was taking away his balance. He wasn't sure he would be able to stand up anymore. He played that the drug was doing something to his eyes. Soon he wouldn't be able to see the place where one dark wall blended into another.

The shapes were gone for now, but the permanent eye glared down from the ceiling. He snarled at it. Inside of him, four clawed feet walked in a restless circle. Wide jaws opened and closed. The prisoner that he kept: it didn't count the days either. It waited, until the times when he saw it fit to set it free.

Vegeta removed the walls around the inside prisoner.

A surge went through his muscles. He found that he could stand up after all. The scent of water – of the nausea-inducing nourishment – almost made him gag. He struck the glass, hit it with fist, elbow and knee. _Slam. Slam. Thud._ His nails skidded on the slick surface. His scream filled the room.

_Shatter!_

He was grateful for the drug then, as he tried for the power again and again, only to find that it was outside his reach.

Bruised knuckles, bleeding nails. He staggered, and left black trails on the wall. His head spun, his heart pounded. He fell to the floor, to whichever way was down. _Thud._ Silence. His heart was tight and struggling. The veins writhed and pulled; cramped in protest. Vegeta stared at the shrouded ceiling. He played that his heart had stopped beating.

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

A heave, as his chest expand, and his back rose up in a wave. Water flooded from his mouth. His fingers smeared droplets over the floor. Breathe. His heart beat extra fast as if to make up for the period of immobility.

Too fast. He closed his eyes and willed his body to slow down. It had been easy once. Drops on his throat, gathered and ran in little streams. The clothes pressed the water to his back, his skin keeping it warm, as the stone was cool and solid underneath him. Down. Grounded. His head was no longer spinning.

"Drop." Said it as if it meant something.

There was a weight on his chest, a warmth laying on top of him. He lifted his hand and let it rest on a wide head. His fingers sank into ragged fur. The flesh lay loose and living over a hard skull. He felt a hot breath against his mouth.

If he opened his eyes, he would be back in the room that wasn't a cave. His hands would be touching nothing that could reflect the light. But he kept his eyes closed. His breath was slow and heavy from the weight on his chest.

---

"Here we go," Bra said. She was clutching the window ledge, her fingers white. She moved to the side to make place for Levi, and they stood there, shoulders touching, staring at the approaching star.

"If anyone asks why we're there," Bra said after awhile, "We have come to… look at Father." The message had said that people were invited to do just that. To look at him. She thought about that dark little room where he was kept, and a chill went through her body.

"They're pretty afraid of him, aren't they?" Levi said.

"I suppose so." Bra heard the doubt in her own voice. She felt like she wanted to add something. The part of the message that she had seen had been so matter-of-fact, so… mundane. It wasn't filled with hate; it did not seem like a message sent by people who acted out of fear. She didn't know what to think.

"Should we try to contact the other ship again?"

"Hm?" Bra shook her head to wake up from her musings. "No, they are still going too fast. We'll just have to count on them to show up in a day or two."

Bra wasn't sure why the communications system didn't work while they were traveling at top speed, but that hadn't stopped her from trying to explain the phenomena to Levi. In the end though, all she could say was that it had "something to do with distortion of time".

"But since we have slowed down," Levi looked at her with his head tilted to the side, "shouldn't we talk to the ones back on Earth, just to let them know that we have arrived?"

"Of course." Bra smiled, and gave him a playful shove. "Missed hearing your parents telling you to be careful, have you?"

"On second thought…"

Bra chuckled as she walked up to the control panel. The screen flickered for a moment, and then Trunks's face appeared. She waived her hand in greeting.

"Bra! Finally we hear from you. How's it going out there?"

"Fine, so far. But we don't know anything yet. Ask me how it's going an hour from now, and I might have a more interesting answer ready for you." She couldn't keep the tension from entering her voice. She didn't try.

Trunks looked away, as if he were embarrassed. "I don't like this." He met her eyes. "I should have come with you."

Bra nodded, a simple dip of her chin. "At least Goten and Pan will be here soon."

"Well, about that…"

"What?" Her voice sank an entire octave, become dark with foreboding.

Trunks paused. He drew a hand through his hair. "The other ship is going in the opposite direction."

"The other ship is going in the opposite direction?" Two octaves up.

"Yes. While you were out of reach, we had to make a difficult decision. The signal that you found, the one where Father…"

A dark little room. She knew he could see it too.

"They were also able to pick up the signal," Trunks said. "It was exactly the same as yours… except for the source of origin." He fell silent.

Bra waited, adding her silence to his.

"We agreed that they had to check it out." His voice sought her understanding. "We couldn't chance not to. It was the same signal."

"But ours is the right one!"

"Are you sure?"

"It… it has to be."

"It's a fifty-fifty possibility."

"A fifty-fifty possibility? Hey, Trunks, who taught you to count? I thought you were better at math then that. Space is… oh, I don't know… pretty big. If we can pick up one signal each, wouldn't you say chances are a little more slim then a fifty-fifty-possibility?"

It was like a bad dream. The kind of dream where you absolutely had to be somewhere, but you couldn't get there because you couldn't find your purse. You kept looking for it and looking for it, until you woke up shouting to yourself that you should just forget the bloody purse, because who cared about it anyway.

"Sorry, I misspoke." Trunks gave her a doubtful look. "Think about it this way, if your place isn't the right one, you can always ask for the directions to Node City Dania."

"Node City what?"

"That's where they are keeping him. Didn't you read the message?"

"Not all of it," Bra muttered. She brought her hand up to her cheek. The tips of her fingers were icy cold. "Alright. So we have a name. But suppose, just suppose my place _is_ the right one, then the other ship will be… late."

_Too late, it may be too late._ She hadn't seen the whole message, but she knew that much.

"Don't worry about it. Just stay low until they get there."

Bra opened he mouth, but she didn't say anything. She saw Trunks look at Levi, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Levi."

"Yes, Dad?"

"You… be careful."

"Yes, Dad."

"I mean it. You have to be careful."

"Yes, Dad."

Levi tended to get monosyllabic when he spoke to his father. And Trunks tended to speak to his son in a voice that was strangely formal. It was false concern hiding the real concern. Bra didn't care for that voice.

"Alright," Bra said. "We'll call you back as soon as something happens." She sounded abrupt and irritable, she knew. "Goodbye, Trunks." She waited for Trunks and Levi to say their goodbyes, before ending the conversation with the turn of a switch.

Bra exchanged a glance with Levi, acknowledging that they were alone again. "So…"

"So…" Levi reflected the word back at her, giving it a tint of expectation.

"So we'll see." Abrupt and irritable.

She started to walk back and forth, barely registering how the boy hurried to get out of her way. "I don't understand. Why would there be more than one signal?" That wasn't what she wanted to say. Right now, she didn't care if there were a thousand signals, ricocheting off the stars. Her heels thudded against the floor.

Why could nothing be simple? Why could nothing last forever? Why did there have to be disappointment in the universe?

"Um… Bra?"

"Yes?"

Bra stopped behind one of the chairs. She was considering kicking it. She had seen way too much of it over the last few days – besides, it was in her way. Lifting her leg, bent at the knee, she let the sole of her foot slam into the chair. A loud crash could be heard, as the backrest took a nosedive, skidded off the cushions, and landed on the floor. _Hah. Served it right. Stupid chair._

"Wow."

Bra turned around and found Levi staring at her. There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were large with appreciation.

"Cool. That chair is so dead."

"I guess," Bra said. She shook her head. "That will be my seat from now on."

"I don't mind."

"You don't mind what?" She smiled, grudgingly basking in his enthusiasm.

"If it's broken. Really. You can kick the other one as well."

She laughed, a happy sound that ran out of her mouth on its own accord. "Let's save it for another-" She cut herself short, staring at a blinking light on the panel behind him. "Heeey…"

Levi glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh yes, I was going to tell you. That little light started blinking."

"That little light…" She ran up to the panel. "Someone is trying to contact us. It's from the planet!" She grabbed Levi's arm and shook him, making him stagger. "They want to talk to us."

"So answer it!"

She reached out and pressed a button. His fingers closed over her sleeve, and they stood together, connected by their clutching hands, as the screen came to life.

The face of… somebody joined them in the room. The person had bright eyes and round, chubby cheeks, that made Bra think of a chipmunk. He or she was dressed in red, with a tiny red cap on top of an unruly nest of hair. The person spoke, the translation only a second behind.

"Hello, and welcome to Node City Dania."

Bra felt her heart take a leap in her chest.

"May I ask your reasons for coming to Dania?" the stranger continued. The voice held an apologetic edge. _Excuse me for prying,_ it said._ But…_

"We came to…" It was harder to say then she thought it would be. "We came regarding the prisoner… Vegeta."

"Huuum." The person made a soft, singing noise. It sounded sad. "You are welcome, travelers. Lodgings and provisions will be provided for you if you do not have other arrangements. I'm Steward Linne. I will help you get installed. Would you please give me your names?"

"I'm Bra… Monique. I'm Bra Monique." Bra blushed. Too late it had occurred to her that telling her own name might not be such a good idea. "And this…" She laid a hand in Levi's shoulder. "This is my son-"

"Mandrake," Levi smoothly interjected.

"Yes. Mandrake. Such a good boy." Bra patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm pleased to meet you both." The chipmunk person smiled. "We'll send you the directions for a place where you can land. I apologize for the security personnel that will search you and your ship. It's only for precautionary reasons. As you know, it's forbidden to bring any weapon to one of the Node Cities."

"Oh, of course not. By all means," Bra said dazedly.

"I look forward to our meeting."

"Yes, sure. Me to."

The screen flickered, and they were alone again.

Bra put both hands over her eyes. "That was… surreal."

Levi leaned back against the console. "So you're my mom now?"

"Mhm." She took her hands from her face and shrugged. "I thought it would be better if they saw us as a single unit. A nephew would encourage more questions… I think. Tell you the truth, my brain short-circuited somewhere down the middle of the welcome speech. I'm not sure what happened."

Levi glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "I think you stumbled on the red carpet."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Not at all." A sly smile. " 'Hello, my name is Bra… no wait, that wasn't right. Give me a moment, it will come to me…' "

"You be quiet, Mandrake."

"Yes, Mom."

---

Asdef sat up in the dark, disoriented, before he realized that he had fallen asleep, fully clothed on top of his bunk. An insistent buzzing filled the room. There was someone at the door.

He turned on the lights, and waited for his eyes to adjust. He tugged at the blanket, to make the bed look more presentable, but changed his mind and turned towards the door. The buzzing grew louder, possible encouraged by his attention.

"Captain!"

Asdef stepped out of the doorway, allowing the young soldier to come inside. He pushed the door shut, thinking that his room wasn't fit for two persons. It was a one person room.

"I have important news."

"I assumed as much." Asdef let some coldness enter his voice.

The young man didn't falter, as if completely unaware that he was inside the captain's private quarters. "There's a small ship heading for the Node City. We examined the markings on the ship, and… and we have no doubt. It comes from Earth. The same planet that the prisoner has been staying on."

It shouldn't have been so unexpected, but it was. Asdef sat down, leaning his elbow on the desk. His first (_insane_) impulse was to do nothing. A ship from Earth had arrived. It seemed like such an unnecessary bother, and perhaps if he kept quiet about it no one would notice.

"Shall I notify the Readers?" There was a catch in the young man's voice, and his hands closed into tight fists.

Asdef wondered if the soldier felt any personal resentment towards the prisoner for giving him those scars, half-hidden under his collar. Had the same thing happened to himself, Asdef imagined that he would have found it unthinkable to feel that way, just as he found it unthinkable to give the prisoner any gratitude for letting them all live.

"Captain?"

Naturally the Readers had to be informed. A day ago he might have assumed they already knew, that something like the makings on a ship wouldn't escape the hands of the Galaxy. But that was before he had sat in the same room with them, and seen them with his own eyes.

"No," Asdef said. "Don't contact the Readers. I'll do it myself." He motioned in the direction of the door.

The young soldier hesitated, but then he gave a nod, almost a bow, and left the room.

Asdef found himself thinking about the white-faced Reader who had sat next to him in the chamber. He had said something, something that struck Asdef as oddly appropriate. What was it now? Something about strength. That strength doesn't always have to be a threat. Yes, that was it.

"Ridiculous." What was ridiculous? He wasn't really sure, but he directed the word at himself, at whatever he was trying to do.

Before he had met them, it wouldn't have occurred to him that it might make a difference which Reader he spoke to. But that was before. He saw them as separate now.

Asdef leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs at the ankles. He wasn't trying to do anything. He was just going to talk to the white-faced Reader. He was going to call the people in the Node and ask for him specifically.

Just as soon as he could remember his name.


	16. Cookies and poison

AN: See, I finally wrote something :) My thanks to LisaB, for beta-ing and encouragement.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Levi wiped a few crumbs from his mouth. He eyed a bowl filled with something that appeared to be fruit, all twisted into curious shapes. His hand tightened around the two-toothed fork, and he stabbed it into a fruit that resembled a tiny person, complete with head, arms, and legs.

He was thinking about weapons. There had been weapons in the capsule ship, locked inside a cabinet, a couple of which had been small enough to carry in the pocket. He wished they had them right now, but Bra had just given him a flat stare when he had suggested that they should try to smuggle them off the ship.

"I can hide it inside my shoe," he had said. "See?" He had pushed his foot inside, careful not to show his pain as his toes were squished.

She had probably been right. The thing that galled him though – the thing that was particularly maddening – was that the guards had just patted him on his back and his sides, without giving his shoes a single glance.

"We're like bank robbers," Levi said. "Bank robbers in a humongous bank without even a gun." He nibbled on the head of the fruit figure. It tasted good – like a peach.

"Funny," Bra said. She did not sound the least bit amused. "I told you to get the gun out of your mind. Using it would be like jabbing a stick into an ant hill… while we were staying in one of the ant rooms, and our ant ship was parked outside, on the other side of the hill."

"But we could-" he started to say.

"Besides…" Bra stared straight into his eyes. "I can't believe that Trunks never taught you how to control your ki."

"Well, he never did," Levi snapped. She must have known that already, so why did she have to bring it up right now?

Bra was silent for a long moment. "I'm sure he has good reasons," she said at last.

"Yes, I'm sure he has." Levi looked away. He felt ashamed. Ashamed that he knew so little. That his father would care so little.

"Look." Bra moved her chair closer to his. "If we hadn't been where we are, I would probably have said that he had made the right choice. Fighting might be our heritage…" She paused, and her voice became a low whisper. "But it has to end some time."

Levi shrugged, feeling defensive. "But now we are where we are," he said. What did she mean, it had to end some time?

"Yes," Bra sighed. "Now we are where we are." She leaned her elbows on the table. He couldn't quite see her face.

There was a buzz by the door.

Levi looked at Bra and saw her lean over the table to pick up her tiny ear piece and put it in her ear. He reached into the pocket of his trousers to do the same.

"Come in," Bra called.

He knew that the person on the other side of the door had an ear piece too, translating everything they said. It was obvious that the Node City people were used to dealing with all sorts of languages, but Bra still insisted that they should learn to speak the alien tongue for themselves. Language can never be fully translated by mechanisms, she had said, and mistakes were bound to happen.

The door slid open, revealing a short round figure wearing a red suit. Levi assumed he was male, since he saw no female shapes underneath the red jacket.

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting," the person said. "I wanted to see if everything was to your satisfaction."

"Oh, Steward Linne." Bra's voice was bright with recognition. The chair scraped against the floor as she got to her feet. "Everything is fine, but I have a few questions if you don't mind."

"By all means." The visitor smiled.

"When can we see Vegeta?" Her words cut through the air, sharp like a whip.

"I'm sorry, I don't know when that will be exactly." Linne took a step backwards as Bra leaned over him.

"How can you not know, when we told you we wanted to see him?"

Linne made an apologetic gesture. "It is my task to see to your needs as our guests, but I have nothing to do with the implementation of the Law. All I know is that you have received your place in line. The administrators responsible for the schedule will contact you soon, and any questions you have regarding the prisoner can be directed to them."

"Oh, come on!"

"Excuse me?" The steward scrunched his nose and his chubby cheeks puffed out.

Levi saw Bra clasp her hands together, as if telling herself to calm down. "Don't we have any say on when to see him?"

"Of course not. You have to wait your time in line like everybody else. The Galaxy has no favourites and no derelicts." He spoke the last part as if it was a well-known proverb.

"No derelicts? What about Vegeta then?" Her retort was fast and, Levi assumed, completely spontaneous.

"I'm not sure that I know what you mean."

"I didn't mean anything really." A brittle laugh. "I was just wondering about the… death sentence. Just a general wondering. Has there, for example, been a trial where they decided what to do?

"A trial?" Linne sounded puzzled. "There was no need for a trial. He is Vegeta. The Law knows his name, and it knows his crimes."

"What are the chances for an appeal?"

Levi stared. It seemed like Bra was trying to pass the question off as a joke, although he could plainly hear the urgency in her voice.

"Don't worry about it." The steward shook his head and smiled. "I guess the only thing that could overrule the Law would be a direct order from the Galaxy." He laughed, discreetly but with an effortless ease, as if he had said something truly funny.

Bra exchanged a glance with Levi.

Turning back to the steward she said, "What would I do if, for argument's sake, I wanted to speak to the Galaxy?"

"You don't. Only the Readers speak to the Galaxy." The steward spoke slowly, with emphasis on each word. For the first time he looked at her with something that might have been suspicion.

"Is that so?" Bra rubbed her chin. "And who are those Readers?"

His mouth fell open.

"But I forget my manners!" Bra exclaimed, shifting gears. She stuck her hand underneath his arm and tugged him towards the table. "Please sit down. Would you like a cookie?"

Without a word they each reached for the round tray and took a cookie. They bit down with crunching noises, chewing with wide eyes and closed lips. Levi swallowed. The cookie was unexpectedly hard and tasted of sugar and malt.

"Listen," Bra said, once everyone had finished. "This is the first time I'm visiting the Node City, and I will not be ashamed of my ignorance. You mentioned the Readers, and I got curious. Could you please tell us more about them?"

"Of course." Linne laughed, and whatever doubts he might have had seemed to disappear altogether. "Forgive me. I tend to forget that things that are obvious to me sometimes are new to other people."

"I understand." Bra patted his hand, and they grinned at each other like they had been best friends.

Shaken and confused, Levi grabbed another cookie.

"The Readers," Linne said, "are my employers… they run the Nodes. They are sent there from planets who are active members of the Galaxy. I take it that your people hasn't appointed one yet?"

"Not yet," Bra said. "Have you met any of the Readers then?"

"Sure. I see them in the hallways sometimes, and once I even sat in on a meeting. They are hard to miss. You'll recognize them on their hats."

"Hats?"

"Yes. Linne gestured above his head. "They all wear one, at least when they are doing something important." He chuckled. "Everyone wears one except for Reader Hemmet, I should have said. He has no head. But I've heard that he had a cape made with the hat embroidered on the back."

"What does this hat look like?"

Linne started to answer but was interrupted by a low buzzing sound. They turned to the door.

"Come in," Bra said, and the door whooshed open.

In the entrance stood a man in a dark robe. He had pale, smiling features, and he was wearing a black hat which nearly touched the upper part of the doorway.

"That's what it looks like," Linne whispered. He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Reader Rok."

---

_My_, Bra thought. _The room is going to get pretty crowded if this continues._ She looked at the latest visitor with interest. _So this is one of the big wigs, huh?_ He seemed friendly enough, the way he smiled, but his eyes made her wary. They were bright with a sort of keen assessment, wandering between her and Levi as if he couldn't wait to hear what they had to say.

Linne rose from the table. "I'll leave you now." The door closed behind him.

Bra had stood up as well. "Hello, Reader Rok," she said, imitating Linne's way of address. "I'm Bra, and this…" she gave Levi a nod, "this is my son Mandrake." She winced at the lie, but then she had to smile when Levi raised his chin and squared his shoulders, almost as if he liked hearing that he was her son.

"I'm pleased to meet you." The Reader's hat dipped forward in a small nod. Bra's eyes wandered to his quirking mouth. _Is he wearing lipstick?_ she wondered. He didn't appear to be, and Bra assumed that he always looked like he had been drinking tar.

"We were having a snack," Bra said. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thank you." The Reader sat down on the seat that Linne had just emptied. Levi pushed the tray closer to him, and he picked up one of the cookies and held it in a delicate grip between his thumb and forefinger.

Bra finished her cookie off in three bites. She took a sip of water to rinse the taste out of her mouth.

"I suppose you wonder why I'm here." Reader Rok leaned back, with one arm behind the backrest of his chair. He fell silent, waiting for their response with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Bra said, letting patience surface in her voice. "I do."

He grinned at her. "I wanted to make you an offer. I heard you came to see Vegeta, and since I have an appointment to see him this night, I thought I might take you with me. If you want to come, that is?"

"I… tonight?" Bra glanced at Levi. "But I thought we were going to get a time for ourselves. Maybe tomorrow or the next day?"

"No, I'm sorry. Many citizens of the Node want to visit Vegeta, more then we anticipated. Your turn won't come up until three or four days, and by then it might be too late. I've heard that the poison has started to undermine Vegeta's cardiac functions, which is a sure sign that death is approaching."

The lines of the Reader's face settled into a calm mask. Bra met his eyes, lined in black, and saw him observing her with a scrutiny that chilled her to the bones.

_He knows. He knows who we are._

He saw right through their theatre, he knew why they had come. Or… maybe she was mistaken? Maybe she was just being paranoid, letting herself be guided by a fleeting impression. Still…

"You could take anyone with you to see Vegeta. Why us?"

There was a pause before the Reader answered. "You are our guests. I couldn't let you come all this way for nothing."

Right now his reasons didn't matter, Bra decided. They had no choice but to take him up on his offer. "Then we thank you. It's very kind of you to think about us."

"Not at all. And now, if you will excuse me, I have some business of my own to attend to."

As the Reader walked to the door, Bra saw something that she hadn't noticed before. Underneath his wide robes, rolling back and forth with every step he took, was the bulky shape of a tail. The white tip glided a hair's breadth away from brushing against the floor. The Reader's feet stopped, and Bra's eyes travelled up to his face in time to catch his amused smile.

"Someone will come for you," he said, opening the door. "Please be ready to leave in two hours."

---

Bra sat cross-legged on her bed, her back resting against the smooth wall. There were no windows in the room and no plants. She missed both. She liked to surround herself with green, growing things. Back home there had always seemed to be some plant present – a row of cactuses on the window sill, ivy climbing the steps to the front door. A couple of flowers in a vase. That was normal to her.

The wise thing, Bra thought, would be to wait. To be cautious. Be cool. Leave it to the others. Let them do the Thing. The Thingy. Thingamabob. Like an echo she heard her brother's words: _Stay low._

They would be close enough to see him, and talk to him. What would she say? she wondered. What promise could she make? What would it take to be cautious, to do the wise thing? What about regrets? What about chances that only came once?

She had to ask: if they took that thing – the collar – off… If the people here saw Vegeta… free. Wouldn't that be reason enough? Reason to let them go, to refrain from shooting, fighting, burning?

Levi was standing in the middle of the floor. His fists flew out, tight punches through the air. He wasn't facing her, embarrassed, she knew, that she should see him at all. He jumped up and down a few times, warming up. He looked younger than his fifteen years.

_Damn. Just… damn._

She moved to the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, giving him her full attention. He was pretty fast, she thought, for someone who was pretending to do something not worth noticing.

"Try standing with your legs further apart. And bend your knees some more."

He glanced at her, a startled look on his face. He did what she had told him, moving his feet to find his balance. His punches looked better, although she saw a lot of tension in his shoulders. He stopped, letting his fists fall down his sides. "Huh," he muttered, a sound between a sneer and a laugh. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I thought you were doing fine."

"And I thought you didn't know how to fight."

"I don't." She rested her chin in her hand, searching for the right words. "There are the forms of fighting, though, of which I've learned a little bit. How could I not, surrounded by people who did little else? Then there is the fighting itself, the act of it, the punch, the…" She shrugged. "It's hard to explain. It's about what you feel, and about the choices you make… and the choices that are made for you. Do you see what I mean?"

"Maybe." He said it slowly, and with a distant look that made her believe that she had given him a lot to think about.

"It's cruel, the fight," Bra continued. "It makes you feel harsh inside, and it changes the things it touches, makes them… oh, I don't know. More brittle maybe, the way a rock is brittle compared to… water… or a tree…" She had lost her focus. She blinked, and lifted her hand, her fingers curled in a familiar gesture.

"What are you doing?"

"Hush."

A soft glow filled her palm and wandered up her fingers. Her arm felt lighter, as if someone was holding it up for her. She sensed the glow roam through her body, thought her arms and her lungs, and she felt a warmth on her back, a comforting warmth, as if a benevolent presence had settled behind her.

Levi had stepped closer. His hand reached out and touched the light. He let it rest in the air above her fingers, and she felt the weight of it, the pressure of his palm. The glow whirled between them.

"Kinda nice," he murmured.

She bent her fingers a little bit more, and locked her wrist. "You have to pull away now, as I do this next thing." He lifted his hand and she nodded. "Watch," she said.

The light shrunk, until she was holding a bright dot within the cage of her fingers. She channelled determination into the light, fuelled it with anger, with grief, and saw it turn white and solid. She felt the heat against her lips.

Levi reached out again, and put his fingers between hers. He was so close that she sensed the sphere reach out to him, looking for further substance. "It… stings," he said. He was squinting, and his face was striped with light.

"That it does."

The ball of energy was as small as she could make it, and she had hardly raised her ki, mindful of hidden cameras or spying sensors. Making it had been easy, easier then it had ever been before. She could have continued to fill it, to nourish it until it burned away the walls of the room, maybe the whole building. A part of her wanted to see it like that, harsh edges and all.

She closed her fingers around the ball and let it sink back into her body. She flexed her wrist. "There."

"What was that for?"

"Just making a point. You felt it, didn't you? The difference."

"I suppose…" He stuck his hands inside his pockets.

Bra sat back against the wall. She took a slow breath. Her heart was beating in her chest, unusually fast, unusually loud.

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

"Well," Levi finally said. "Have you finished 'thinking it through?'"

"'For once,'" she added. "Thinking it through… for once."

"Yes." He gave one of the legs of the bed a light kick. "Are you done yet?"

"Not really." She crossed her arms over her stomach. "But I believe… I believe we should wait. Like good little boys and girls."

"But… we could do it. At least," he added, "you could do it."

"Maybe. But out chances will be a lot better if we wait. What if it doesn't go the way we want? I couldn't do that to you. Or to Father," she said, and he closed his mouth, his protest unspoken. Bra held his eyes with hers and lowered her voice. "If it were only you and me we might leave him with little choice at all."

Levi looked away. "This sucks," he muttered.

"True." Bra looked at her watch. "Remember that we're still doing something important. We'll have to observe everything closely tonight, and learn as much as we can."

"I know," he said. "How much time left?"

"Fifteen minutes."

He giggled suddenly, and covered his mouth with his hand. She saw his cheeks redden, before he turned his back to her and sat down by the table. She understood how he felt, and for a short moment she almost giggled herself. Fifteen minutes. It was absurd. It all was.

The moment passed, and she closed her eyes, leaning the back of her head against the wall. Behind her eyelids she saw a small glowing light, as if the sphere she had made was burned into her retina.

_Father, we'll see you soon._


	17. Visit

**Chapter 17**

His right hand had become useless. It had started with a tingling down his shoulder, and a numbness on the surface of his skin. He touched the hand and he couldn't feel it. Just a dull pressure, a dull, dull pressure that soon went away. His fingers had curled into his palm and stayed that way, petrified.

Vegeta laid down on the floor and placed his arm over his eyes. He slept. The sleep was empty and dreamless. Whatever images that appeared behind his eyelids, he pushed them away. He was aware of them, the images, but he wouldn't let them come close enough to touch him.

This was his cave.

---

Bra walked down the corridor, Levi at her side. In front of her was the Reader together with three uniformed men. Bra had recognised one of the men the moment she laid eyes on him. It was the one who had introduced himself as Captain, the one who had said that he had came "on a mission of peace", and then proved himself to be anything but peaceful. She watched his back, dark and straight next to the flowing robes of the Reader.

The Captain was saying something, and Bra walked a bit faster, hoping to catch a few of his words.

"…highly irregular," she heard him say. His voice was hushed and agitated. She couldn't hear the other man's reply, but it made the Captain glance back at her, just once, and they both fell silent.

Bra walked on, and felt the silence deepen around her, isolating her from everything but the echo of her own footsteps. The air was cold, and glowing stripes along the roof placed everything in a muted light.

She had once walked into the chamber underneath a pyramid. She was reminded of this now, although she had been alone at that time, and the passageway had been narrow and cramped. But the feeling had been the same, this sense of invisibility that she couldn't shake, this sense that nothing she did was actually happening.

No. She reached out and felt Levi's sleeve brush up against her hand. His presence was good for her, she thought. It put a weight on her shoulders and forced her to accountability. She couldn't just drift.

She wondered about this, about this sense that she wasn't quite _there_. She had thought she had grown out of it by now.

"Here we are," the Captain said, and she snapped to attention.

They stopped before a large door with a handle shaped like a wheel. The guards moved to stand on either side of the door, and the Captain and the Reader turned to face her in a way that once again convinced her that they _knew_.

"We would like to go in alone, if you don't mind," Bra said. She had saved her request to the last minute, hoping to avoid any questions or confrontations. All that could wait. First she had to see her father.

Reader Rok was silent way too long. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of the opposite sides of his robe and pursed his lips. Bra resisted the sudden urge to punch him.

"Very well," the Reader finally said. He stepped to the side, and the Captain closed his hands around the handle. He started to turn it, with some effort it looked like, and the lock opened with a heavy thud.

Darkness. She could see nothing except darkness inside the room. She stared at the opening, and found that she couldn't move. Her feet were frozen to the floor.

"Shit." The mutter came from Levi, barely audible, just a hissing through his teeth. Bra turned to look at him. He swallowed, and she could see surprise and confusion on his face. It was the air, she thought. Something in the air that she couldn't taste or feel, but it was there all the same. It was a resistance, a reluctance. Looking into the open doorway she knew it clearly. They were not welcome here.

"Oh, well." She smiled at Levi, a small smile that relaxed the lines of her face and spread calmness through her body. She felt the tension in her stomach lighten. "Here we go then."

_Sorry, Father, but we have to disturb you now._

Levi nodded. The strange light in the corridor had deepened the colour of his hair, and his skin looked pale, almost white. Every crease in his clothing stood out, gleaming, while the shadows were black like the surrounding walls. It looked special. It made her aware of herself, of the way she stood, of the way she held her arms down her sides. Like every movement counted for something. She stepped forward, and saw in her mind's eye how they entered the room. Levi walked beside her, and she saw his slender neck and her slender neck, and how their hair looked in the dark. She heard the door close behind her, and the sound – the boom – removed the distance and the fancies.

There she stood, looking at her father.

He lay on his side. One arm was folded under his head like a pillow, and the other arm was hiding his face. He didn't stir and he didn't look up. Between them, splitting the room in half, was a wall of shimmering glass. A few more steps, and her hands were pressed against the glass. It was smooth and not as cold as she had expected. She lifted her right hand and brought it back with a slap. She did it again, making her palm sting. "Dad… Dad." Could he even hear her?

She remembered when she had been a teenager, pestering her father, pushed him and pushed him to acknowledge her. "Dad!" She saw him move. He lifted his arm from his face, and lay there, staring straight ahead. She tried to meet his eyes, but they were hidden in shadow, and _why did it have to be so cold and dark in here?_

"Father!"

He pushed himself up to his knees, and started to stand. His movements were slow, and painful enough to make her gasp. "Wait…" she whispered. "Wait..." She hadn't meant to push him, she hadn't meant for him to struggle. He stood, leaning against the wall. As he walked towards her she though for a second that he might fall. He caught himself heavily when he reached the glass, and she placed her palm next to his. His other hand was a loose fist that didn't look right, too clumsy and too stiff. His face, hard and set, was very close to hers.

"Dad? It's me. Bra. I've come to…"

"Go home."

She couldn't hear a trace of warmth in his voice. His eyes made her shiver. There was something missing, she thought, some spark that should have been there but wasn't. She opened her mouth, but she couldn't find a word to say.

"We won't leave you, Grandfather."

Levi… _Exactly._

She took a deep breath of the chilly air. "He's right. We won't leave you, we're going to help you get out of here. Not right now, but soon."

"I don't want your help. Go home."

Bra watched him brace himself against the wall. He lowered his head, like he was dizzy, and she got a close look of the band around his neck. It was a metal that shone like silver.

He glanced at her, a dark glance, filled with… what? Malice? Resentment? He must hate it, that she was seeing him like this. She remembered the times when he had locked himself up in the Gravity Room for several days in a row. Even her mother wouldn't approach him then.

"You should never have left, Dad. You should…" _You should have been there when we buried her. _And was that all she could come up with right now? A funeral? A grave? "I want… I want you to come home, Dad. For me."

"Me too." Levi placed his hand on the glass, next to hers. "I want you back too." He sounded so young and earnest, and Bra felt a wave of gratitude towards him, her brother's son. "I want to learn things from you, Grandfather. And if you go somewhere, then I want to come with you."

Vegeta looked at them with a slight twist on his mouth. _I'm not going anywhere, _he seemed to say. _I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well leave me alone._

"But, Father…"

But, Father, what? She knew this silence, knew this look in her father's eyes. He wouldn't listen to her. He'd care nothing for her comforts or her accusations.

There was a long moment of silence. When she spoke next it felt like a retreat. "I can't believe this. They locked you inside a… a dungeon, leaving you to sleep on the floor. They haven't even given you a blanket."

He shrugged, like he understood everything that she didn't. "I don't need a blanket."

"But you're a prisoner. They're giving you poison… poison! And what's the matter with your hand? Can't you move it anymore?"

He looked at his hand, held it in front of his chest like it was some alien thing that didn't belong to him, something of no value. "It's the poison, as you say." His voice held very little inflection. "Don't worry about it, child."

_Child. _She clung to that single word of endearment. Nothing could change it. She was his child.

She leaned closer. "Why did you let them do this to you, Dad? It's all wrong. You don't belong here." Her voice was soft.

"But I do." His answer was equally soft. "It fits so well."

"Is it because of Mom?"

"Hm." There was a change in his expression, a relaxation of his shoulders.

"I won't think badly of you, Daddy. I… I understand."

"I used her."

"What do you mean?" Soft and slow. Her brow was only a few centimetres from his.

"Her life… I borrowed it from her. Her death… took it all away."

"It's not the end, Dad."

"It is. There is such a thing as finality."

"The afterlife…"

"I've been to the afterlife, and it is not eternal, not final. Her death, however, was. Even with the Dragon it wouldn't be possibly to bring her back."

"You don't know… you don't know…"

"I do know. Don't cry. This is the way it is."

Was she crying? She hadn't been aware of that.

"That might be," she said, closing her eyes. She turned away, took a few steps into the room. Felt like she was waking up from a dream. She saw Levi look at her, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Took a deep breath. "You believe you'll never see her again." Her back was still turned towards Vegeta. "I wouldn't know about that. Maybe you will and maybe you won't, but that doesn't really matter right now, does it?" She turned around. "We'll get you home. Everything else can wait."

Vegeta took a step away from the glass. He didn't look like he was listening to her.

"What are you thinking about, Dad? The threat to Earth? Don't worry, we'll work it out. Okay?"

There was no answer.

"We'll get you home. Do you hear me, Dad?

Vegeta was walking away from her. His steps were slow, but they seemed more steady than before. He reached the far wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. In the darkness she could only see the outline of his body.

"Hey!" _What was this? What the HELL was this?_ "Don't go. At least talk to me, Dad."

Her bitterness was fully tangible, like a bad taste in her mouth. She gritted her teeth, and waited, and waited, but his silence didn't break. Was he putting an end to her visit now? Was he going to make her leave with the image of him standing there, shutting her out? She might… she might never see him again. It was entirely possible. Goten and Pan might not arrive in time, and even if they did… she wasn't sure anymore. It occurred to her, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she was standing on a ship. What was there to prevent him from disappearing for a second time, with no hope of finding him again?

Father… 

She was as close to him as she could, reaching for him with her body against the glass. It had seemed so reasonable. Visit him, and leave. She wasn't fit for any rescue missions, she knew she wasn't – not if it involved fighting and bloodshed. But then again, she wasn't fit to walk away either, to leave him with his silence and his shadows. _Not now. Not ever._

"Dad… Dad… Aren't you ready to get out of here? I could break the glass. I could do it right now. Say the word and I will."

She didn't mean it… yes, she did. She slammed the heel of her hand onto the glass, and felt it shudder. It was so fragile. She wasn't trying to break it, not yet, but if it _should_ break from such a small impact it couldn't really be helped, could it? What had they expected, placing her father behind such a fragile wall and proclaiming it the division between life and death? It was a joke – a big, not so funny joke that grated on her nerves like so many lies and so much falseness.

She raised her hand again, ki running through her bones and crackling around her fingers.

"Careful there."

She thought it was Levi at first, Levi who was holding her wrist in a firm, callous grip, twisting her elbow and piercing her skin with nails sharp as needles. No… She glanced back, and come face to face with the Reader.

"You might not want to do that," he said, somehow managing to sound good natured even as her blood was trickling between his fingers. Claws. But more important than that: ki. It was building between them; two separate fields of power, battling, repelling each other… making her heart race and her body tremble. She gathered more of the power, and more, and he followed, all the time keeping himself one step behind.

_Wha…?_

She held still, ready and motionless, and felt him do the same. One step below her, not threatening, just waiting.

"Let go of her."

Vegeta. He had approached without her noticing. He glared from her to the Reader, his presence so unyielding she could almost forget he couldn't touch them. She felt the Reader start – surprise, fear? – and in the middle of it all she found herself smiling._ This _was her father.

The Reader released her wrist. His arms fell to his sides, the wide sleeves covering his hands. He bent forward slightly. Bra blinked. What was this? Was the Reader… bowing to her? His power was dropping, she realised. Now, she thought, now would be the time to strike, to get him out of the way. It was the perfect time. Why then wasn't she moving?

"Forgive me," the Reader said. He straightened his back, his gaze wandering between her and Vegeta. "I meant to stop you, not injure you, but I can see that I did. I trust it is nothing serious?"

"I'm fine." She was. His claws had only scratched her, and the bleeding had almost stopped. Right now she couldn't even feel any pain.

The Reader turned to Vegeta and bowed, like he had done for her. "Again, I'm sorry. You can rest easy, Vegeta. I mean no harm to your daughter or to your grandson."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" _Spark_, she thought. The spark that she had been missing, it had come back in him now.

"I'm Reader Rok, a servant of the Law." He closed his dark eye-lids briefly. "Hate me if you will, Vegeta, I'm one of those responsible for keeping you here. As for what I want…" He turned to Bra to Levi, and raised his voice. "It might turn out that what I want and what you want are not all that different."

"Eavesdropping, were you?" Bra was surprised at the amount of hostility in her own voice.

"Indeed."

She thought she saw him smirk, just slightly. _Smug bastard_.

Had she mentioned Pan and Goten during the conversation with her father? She didn't think she had, but she wasn't certain.

"It's a good thing I stopped you in time," the Reader said. "Otherwise you might have done something regrettable."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell her." The Reader directed his words to the Captain, who cautiously stepped into the room. Bra moved to the side, uncomfortable with someone coming up behind her.

"The glass is linked to the computer that controls the collar," the Captain said. Asdef. His name was Asdef, she thought. It was hard, for some reason, to concentrate on what he was saying. "Breaking the glass would automatically raise the drug dosage to a lethal level, and the prisoner would die."

"You lie."

"I don't." The Captain almost sounded apologetic. "It's a standard security measure."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" She looked at the Reader. "You knew all along who we were, don't try to deny it."

"If you wanted to hide, you should not have come in a vessel adorned with the same markings as the house where we found Vegeta."

Bra almost growled. She felt a burst of aggression, all directed at Trunks. Why oh why did he always have to mark everything with the Capsule Corp logo?

"Other then your connection to Vegeta, I didn't know anything about you," the Reader said. "I didn't know what you were capable of, and I didn't know what you were planning to do. I'm still not sure. Tell me, what are you going to do with that… rather impressive amount of ki you're holding?"

Bra flexed her fingers. Rather impressive, he said. If she had been able to transform into Super Saiyan, not _that_ would have been impressive. She sighted, and released her hold of the power. The atmosphere in the room changed, become dimmer and much calmer.

"Good." He smiled. "That's what I was hoping you'd do."

She couldn't figure him out. One minute he was speaking about his loyalty to "the Law", and the next he was acting like their co-conspirator. She didn't trust him one bit.

"It's time to be on our way," the Reader said. "We have much to talk about before the morning. I hope you can do without sleep for one night."

"What… what will happen in the morning?" This was going all too fast.

"Oh, nothing much." He _winked_ at her. "Just a meeting with a bunch of politicians. The topic of discussion… is you, daughter of Vegeta. So you see, it wouldn't do if you came unprepared."

"But why…" She closed her mouth. All right. _All right._ They knew who she was. All that was left was to accept it and move forward.

"Dad…"

Vegeta looked at her. He inclined his head in a slight nod. Wordlessly, Bra returned the nod.

And then they left.


	18. The important thing

**Chapter**** 18**

"How many times do I have to say it?" Bra crossed her arms over her chest. "The people of Earth have no idea who my father is, and they have no idea that I'm here right now. There is no big conspiracy!"

"I believe you." The Reader that called himself Rok stared at her from across the room. "Still, you should get used to saying it, and saying it again and again. The Earth is not a threat. That's the most important thing."

"No." No... She sighed, a sharp huff between her teeth. "I came to get my father away from your prison. _That's_ the most important thing." Levi was listening to everything they said, an attentive presence by her side.

"You want to save him. That's understandable." the Reader said, preoccupied, dismissing her words with a wave of his hand. "But remember when you address the Readers that it's your father you want to save. Not Vegeta."

"There's a difference?" She was stalling. She knew the difference.

The entire wall behind the Reader was a window, and she kept looking past him, down to the landscape of lights in the city below. The lights made her uneasy. We're watching you, they seemed to say. You're not alone, not free.

"Vegeta is a criminal, forever linked to Frieza. That's all he is."

Bra nodded, a slow up and down motion. "And my father never killed anyone – until you showed up." She felt her mood lighten, her ever present hope taking hold on her once again. She tried to push the hope away. The Reader was manipulating her, she was sure of it. She was silent for awhile, trying to weigh her words. "It's not too late," she finally said. "What if I explain to the Readers that my father is not…who they think he is?" Yeah, like that would work. She was blind, and the ground she walked on was slippery as ice.

Rok shook his head. "You can make them sympathize with your situation. You can even make them regret Vegeta's death. I know some of them already do-"

"They do?" It filled her with dread, the way he talked about her father as if he were already dead.

"Yes, the Readers believe a lot of things, and some of them believe that killing criminals is something that can be avoided – even when it comes to Vegeta they will try to avoid it. The point is, the Readers _might_ have been ready to leave him alone, but that won't happen now. Not when he is almost dead. Not when they have made an enemy out of him."

Bra took a deep breath, her throat tight.

The Reader took a step closer. "Would it interest you to know that I was one of those that insisted that we should leave Vegeta alone? Don't bother with him, I said. It will only cause trouble. And here we are, in the middle of trouble. Of course, whatever happens there will always be those that say that leaving Vegeta alone would have led to an even worse crisis in the future."

"I don't understand." There were a lot of things she didn't understand. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Why? I'm being as frank as I possibly can. I need you to help us, Bra Monique."

Bra opened her mouth to correct him – _actually, my name is just Bra –_ but she changed her mind. Why should it matter? It had been a lie, but it had come from her, her own thoughts and her own memories. She could be Bra Monique from now on.

"You need them to doubt their fears," the Reader said. "Knowledge will make them do that."

"All the cards on the table," Bra murmured.

"Cards?"

"Never mind."

There was a silence, while they stared at each other. Deadlocked, it felt like, in a battle that was leading nowhere.

"Listen," the Reader said, his voice tense. "The Law is a shifting, insubstantial thing. Many of the Readers wouldn't agree, but it's true, at least most of the time. You are what you serve, and they _are_ the Law."

Bra bit her lip, staring at the floor, her mind working hard, trying to analyze what he had said from every angle. She was close to something important, she felt. What did it mean, the Readers were the Law?

Bra looked up and immediately backed away a step. When had the Reader gotten so close? His eyes were brown, she noticed, a warm and soothing colour. How ludicrous.

She straightened her back.

"You want me to play two roles at once. I can't be a… a peace envoy. Not right now. You're killing my dad, don't you get it? I don't want to fight, but if I have to I will." Her voice was calm, but weak. She was trying to gather all of her conviction, only to find it weaker than ever. There were city lights back on Earth, she thought, and they were watching her too.

"Yeah!" Levi gave a small whoop when she fell silent. Supportive indeed. She put a hand on his arm and looked at the Reader. Filled with defiance, thanks to the kid.

The Reader's face was hard. "You're children," he said. "Stupid, stupid children. This isn't something that you can _fight_, like in a tale of tribal heroism. It's much more complicated than that."

"Not fight, but bargain," Bra heard herself say. "You want peace? Release my father and you'll get your peace."

"Don't talk like that!" The Reader took a step closer and raised his hands to stop her, alarm on his face. "If you do…"

It was the first time, Bra thought, that she felt that the Reader was completely sincere, that she was seeing something other than all those masks he had been putting on. He really was deeply worried. Seeing it should have made her glad, but it didn't. His fears were her own.

"The Readers are scared," he said, as if he was reading her thoughts. "Threatening them right now might be the worse thing you can do."

"It's the only thing I can do," she said. And she was lying, of course she was.

They stared at each other, until Bra broke the eye-contact and looked away.

"Let's take a break," she said. "I want to sit down. Bring me some water, would you?" It wasn't like she knew what she was doing. Might as well order him around and see what happened. The Reader stood still for a few more seconds, then he nodded at her and left the room.

Bra walked over to the far wall, where a long row of cushioned chairs was waiting. She sat down, Levi next to her. In front of them, on display like on a movie screen, was the city, the darkness with its patterns of light.

Bra had lived in many places in her life. Some she had loved from the start and some had struck her as dreadful and depressing. She had learned though that if she stayed long enough she would grow to like it. The same with people. She might get angry at them, but as time went by the anger was sure to disappear. She'd learn that they weren't as bad as she had thought – she would start feeling comfortable in their presence.

She remembered discussing it with Monique – the first Monique. "As it turns out," Bra had said, smiling. "Everything and everyone is likable". Monique had protested of course, and reminded Bra about people who caused suffering and torture, and Bra had to retreat, had to tie down her enthusiasm. No, everything wasn't likable and everything wasn't good, and yet she hadn't been able to abandon her original idea. It was, she felt, a lovely idea. She just had a hard time expressing it.

She might have used her father as an example, Bra thought. He had done all those awful things, and if he wasn't abhorrent then who was? No one, that's who.

"Your water." The Reader approached them slowly and handed them one bottle each. Bra unscrewed the cap, much like she had unscrewed hundreds of caps back on Earth. Taking a long swallow, she stared at the Reader as he backed away, not stopping until he was standing as far away from her as he could get, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Does he seem nervous to you?" she whispered, her lips hidden behind the damp rim of the bottle.

Levi looked confused, and then his expression turned into a tentative smirk. "Yeah. Yeah he does."

Power. Bra knew she had it. She was in a position of power right now. A "bunch of politicians" wanted to talk to her, and whatever she chose to say would probably affect a lot of people. Bra sighed. She didn't like power. Power, she thought, was the opposite of freedom. She frowned. That wasn't right. Wasn't the opposite of power powerlessness, to be ruled by others? Her father would have called it weakness.

Her thoughts were a mess, Bra realized. If only… if only she had more faith, faith enough to lead an army. And self-righteousness, she thought, lots and lots of self-righteousness.

"You think too much," Bulma had used to tell her, and Bra knew she was right. People had always told her that she was a lot like her mother. She looked like her, and most of the time she acted like her as well. "You have Bulma's honesty," Gohan had told her once, a long time ago. It was one of those things that stuck to her mind, one of those things that made her feel sure about who she was. She had Bulma's honesty. What she didn't have was Bulma's drive, or Bulma's ability to choose a path and stick to it. Thinking too much could do that to a person.

Bra let her breath out in an angry puff.

"You alright?" Levi asked in a hesitant voice.

"Mm. I was just thinking about Mom." She glanced at Levi, letting him see the turmoil on her face without reservation.

Levi looked away, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it." Bra reached out and lightly struck his chest with the back of her hand. "What do you think about this guy?" She kept her voice low.

"I don't know. I think he wants to trick you into doing what _he_ wants." Levi had leaned closer to whisper to her, and he shot a narrow glance at the pale-faced man standing by the window.

"I think so too," she whispered back. "Except I don't think he wants to hide it. It's more like he's trying to bully me into it."

"But you won't let him." It was not at question.

"No," Bra agreed. "I won't let him." Problem was, she couldn't just ignore all that power she had at her disposal.

"It's like he thinks he knows everything," Levi whispered.

Bra nodded. Levi was right, that was the way it felt. Like the Reader thought he could tell them what to do because he knew everything and they didn't. "I think… I think I'll try to bully _him_ for a bit, what do you think?"

"Sounds good," Levi smiled. He was nervous and uncertain, she felt, but he still believed in her.

She turned to the Reader and raised her voice. "Would you come over here, please." She made herself sound smooth and filled with self-confidence, and was instantly obeyed. "Move a chair over there." She gestured at the space in front of her, showing him where to sit.

He did as she had told him, sat down and placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward. "Bra Monique…"

"No." She held up her hand and he fell silent. "Let's try this a bit different. I'll ask you questions, and you give me the answers. Ok?" The 'ok' turned her command into a lilting query, but there was no softness in her right then. She felt harsh and unhappy, and she knew that her face showed it.

The Reader straightened.

"Acceptable." He clasped his hands in his lap, waiting.

"Your name it Rok, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That's all? No family name?"

"That's all." There was a slight hesitation before his answer. Bra chose to ignore it.

"So... Rok. Who am I talking to right now? The Readers, or just you?"

"Just me." His response was immediate.

"Why are you here then, why you and not somebody else?"

"Because no one is stopping me."

"Explain. As briefly as you can." She wasn't going to let him hold any speeches.

The Reader crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, testing her maybe, by pausing to consider his answer. "It's quite simple, really," he finally said. "We are a young organisation, with very few rules to control our behaviour. It might sound strange, considering we are the servants of the Law, but there you are. I'm here because I want to be, and because nobody else seems to want the honour." He smiled. "Besides, I was the first to learn who you were. I have dibs."

Dibs? She was pretty sure the translator had missed some nuance on that one.

"And what you want to accomplish…" She paused, looking at him, and he met her eyes without a trace of hostility. "You want me to convince the Readers that I want nothing but peace. And you want me to speak for everyone back on Earth, saying that we have no plans to attack the Galaxy." She waited, and the Reader nodded in affirmation. "Anything else?"

"Yes." The Reader smiled, a disarming twist of those lipstick-black lips. "I want you to be here when we talk to the children of Vegeta. I want you to work with us to make sure that your assurance won't be a lie."

"Knowing who I am, that's what you ask me to do?"

"Yes." A serious nod, and then the Reader put his hand over his mouth, and laughed.

***

Levi took a sip of his water. He noticed he was dangling his legs like a kid, and stopped. All this talking was making him impatient. It made him think that this was what politicians did all day when they couldn't agree – just kept talking and talking. Going nowhere.

Yes, he was impatient. And he couldn't stop feeling that that they were doing something wrong. His grandfather had wanted them to go home. Vegeta didn't want them here, he had sounded so sure.

Levi didn't know if he believed it or not.

The Reader was still chuckling, like he had said something funny. Which of course he had. Like Bra would do anything just because he told her to. Levi discovered that he wasn't the least bit afraid, not of this guy in his silly hat.

"What's so funny?" Bra asked, but she didn't sound like she wanted to start a fight. More like she was a little bit sad, like she'd rather be laughing than having this conversation.

"Nothing really," Rok shrugged. "I have a strange sense of humour."

"And annoying." A quick smile crossed Bra's lips.

"And annoying," Rok nodded. He leaned forward. "A smile, Bra Monique, is the best way of meeting fear or distrust. It's the best way of disarming your opponent."

"That's true," Bra said. They were both leaning forward, like two conspirators, and Levi was surprised to feel a sting of exclusion. "So," Bra continued in a let's-share-our-secrets kind of voice. "Why do they fear you, the other Readers?"

The Reader shrugged. "It's none of my doing. My presence merely reminds them of someone else." Another smile, really creepy this time

Levi looked at Bra and saw her eyes widen in sudden realisation.

"Ice-jin," she whispered, and the word sounded harsh and ugly.

"You named me." The Reader drew a fingertip over his smooth cheekbone, a gesture of fake vanity.

"Huh," Bra said.

Levi wondered if he was supposed to know what an Ice-jin was.

"And this is a problem with the other Readers?"

"It's not a problem with the Law." Rok sounded like he had said it many times before. "Frieza's guilt isn't mine." He raised his eyebrows at Bra. "Just like your father's guilt isn't yours."

"Right," Bra said, softly. She pulled one knee up, her heel on the chair. Staring out of the window. "No matter what anyone might have to say about it," she murmured.

Levi wasn't sure what she was doing, except fishing for information. It seemed to be working. The Reader relaxed, his manner slow and thoughtful, to match Bra's. "I remember how different they were... Frieza and his family. Set apart, like gods." Rok paused, waiting for Bra to nod.

"You ever met them?" she asked.

"No, never. But... I remember how proud we were of them, back home. Afraid, yes, but happy to know that they were out there, making our planets rich and mighty on their conquests." Rok sounded strangely unguarded, lost in memory. "Then, when the news reached us that they had died..." Rok hesitated and glanced at Bra. His mouth opened and closed again. At a loss for words.

Levi thought he saw Bra smile, small and secretive, and he was filled with excitement suddenly, because he _knew_ this. Knew it from snippets of stories, things he'd heard when he was a kid.

Frieza and his family, they had died on Earth.

"When they died," Rok resumed, raising his voice. "When they died my home became a place of siege. Everyone wanted a piece of the riches." His voice became soft. "And everyone hated us, really hated us. You understand? For years and years we were fair game. It was...." He shrugged, distress on his face. It was hard for him to talk about it, Levi thought, but he did it anyway.

"And then?" Bra asked.

"And then the Galaxy came." Short and simple. "Saved us. The ones who were left."

"The famous Law," Bra muttered.

"Exactly." The Reader nodded. "The Galaxy won't tolerate genocide, nor war."

"Except when it's the Galaxy that does it." Levi hadn't planned to speak, it just slipped out.

"There is that." Rok smirked, and his face was a mask again. "But that isn't the Galaxy's failings, only its servants. We shouldn't kid ourselves. What we do matters, and the Galaxy only have what power we give it."

Levi frowned, trying to make sense of that last bit.

"Wait," Bra said. "Wait, wait, wait." She was on her feet, pacing. "What you're telling us..." She spun around. "What you're saying... is that the Galaxy is a machine?"

"Well, yes." Rok peered up at her, like he couldn't believe that she hadn't known.

"Of course!" She pointed at the Reader, almost accusingly, and then shook her hand, gesturing wildly as if that helped her to think. "The Galaxy is a machine, and the Law... the Law is a computer program."

"In a manner of speaking." Rok looked amused.

"It's those Nodes thingies, isn't it?" Bra took a deep breath. "They are really a communication device, to spread the Galaxy all over, to, to..."

"Exactly. No voice is faster, nor can reach as far."

"I thought there was something strange about that signal!"

Levi was impressed with his aunt, and slightly intimidated by her intensity.

Bra sat down, both hands holding onto the edge of her chair. She was staring at the Reader, and it was hard to see what she was thinking.

"This is all very interesting," she said. "I understand the situation better now. But time is running out, isn't it? Go on. Tell us about those Readers we're about to meet, I want to know every one of them."

Rok smiled.

***

Trunks was sitting by his desk, trying to work.

He was scribbling on a paper, working on an outline for a business meeting, but his thoughts wouldn't focus. His mind was somewhere else, planning, thinking, arguing. He'd always liked to write by hand, to help him organise. It usually made everything tangible and easy to handle. Not this time though. The agenda kept changing. He wrote down a number, counting the zeroes, and crossed it out. Bra had found their father, he thought, and Levi was in the thick of it. Trunks looked down at the paper – a mess of crossed out lines. He rolled the paper into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder into the waste basket.

Right.

He put the pen down, and it felt final and significant somehow. Like he would never pick it up again.

One hour later, no more then that, and he was standing with Gohan in the waiting room outside one of the mightiest offices on Earth. Gohan had actually been the hardest to convince – his wife Miriam had agreed at once, surprising him with her readiness to put their lives upside down. But Gohan had his grandchildren to consider, and it had taken at least twenty minutes of talking and negotiation to get Gohan to join him here.

"The spokesman can see you now." A young man put his head through the door and smiled. The cheery, professional smile did nothing to hide his doubt, or the long glance he shot them, wondering who they were and how they had managed to get the spokesman to see them in such a short notice.

It hadn't been easy. Saying that they had important information about the aliens had gotten them nowhere, and being the president on Capsule Corporation didn't hold _that _much weight. No, in the end it had been the name Son Goku that had made them listen, that had made them sit up and take heed.

They stepped into the office. The man inside walked around his desk to meet them. "This had better be good," he said without greetings or introductions.

Grahman Ziegert, the spokesman of the Union of All States, was a big man with a thick moustache and a broad, hard face. Trunks was a bit taken aback by the brusqueness. Every time he'd seen the man on TV he had been soft spoken, a true diplomat. The last few days, Trunks realised, must have been very hard. He guessed even diplomacy had its limits.

"We understand this is a bad time," he said. "I guess things have been a bit... chaotic ever since this alien police came looking for Vegeta." His voice softened. "In effect holding the whole Earth accountable for his crimes."

"Tell me something I don't know," grumbled Ziegert.

"Vegeta is my father."

Trunks met the stunned gaze of the spokesperson and he nearly smiled. Vegeta was his father. That was the way it was.

"Vegeta is a remarkable man," Gohan said, his voice low and confident. "He turned himself in to protect us all."

Trunks blinked. It was true. His father had done that.

"Turned himself in, huh?" The big man blew air into his moustache. "Well, that explains a lot. I guess next you're going to tell me that Vegeta isn't human."

Trunks and Gohan exchanged glances.

"He's a Saiyan," Gohan said. "Like Son Goku. Like us."

"Like... you?" Ziegert's gaze flickered between them, his eyes a bit wild. Clearly not ready for aliens to suddenly appear in his office.

"Well..." Gohan shrugged. "Half Saiyans anyway."

"Tell him about the Great Saiyaman," Trunks whispered, and grinned when Gohan shot him a dirty look. He felt good, younger that he had in a long time.

Later that day Trunks tried to contact Bra and Levi. Last he'd heard they had just arrived at Node City Dania. Bra had been smiling when she brought him the news, so excited to have found the right place, so hopeful about it all. Trunks waited, but he wasn't surprised when he didn't get an answer. For the sake of caution he didn't leave a message, even though he really wanted them to know that he was coming, and that he was sorry that he hadn't been there all along.

If he left right now, Trunks thought, he might even arrive before Pan and Goten.


End file.
